


The Paradox Train

by DarkSideoftheLoon, DoctorDalek, TraditionalGaily



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Addiction, Advent Calendar, Alien Invasion, Anal Sex, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Paradox Train, Parody, Riding Crops, Rough Kissing, Torchwood - Freeform, Travelling through time and space, cHRISTMAS MOOD, interspecies Marriage, time lord academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 31,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSideoftheLoon/pseuds/DarkSideoftheLoon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorDalek/pseuds/DoctorDalek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TraditionalGaily/pseuds/TraditionalGaily
Summary: Running late to reach the earth in time for the annual Christamssy alien threat, the Doctor chose quite an unusual way of transportation: the Paradox Train. Accompany the Doctor at his perilous struggle with incompetent staff, strange passengers and all to well known enemy on his extraordinary journey.





	1. The Paradox Train

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, Traditional speaking.  
> So as you can see DoctorDalek and I joined forces once again for a little Doctor Who themed Christmas fun.  
> This year our old friend DarkSideoftheLoon decided to take part in this ridiculousness (a welcoming applause for DarkSideoftheLoon).  
> It's going to be an ambivanlent mixture of humors episodes and fluffy flashbacks. Oh and a dash of refernces and insults of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, references and characters we borrowed are listed at the end of the final chapter.

Picture space. Deep space.  
A dark scarcely star sprinkled void somewhere far off, with those colourful nebulas forming strange patterns.  
And yet the attention gets drawn to the railroad tracks carefully lain out, the metal blackened by soot and stardust glistening in the lights of stars dying millions of light years away.  
There is the mechanical panting of a train drawing nearer; sparks are flying where its colossal wheels are forced to follow the straight tracks.  
And as the chuffing monstrosity advances, the headlights running mercilessly towards the onlooker, there is a man leaning out of the driver’s cabin shouting above the noise…

“Oi, watch it mate…”  
It had already been too late.  
The engine driver winced at the uncomfortable sound of yet another narrator being squashed by the paradox train running over him.  
He shook his head.  
“What a waste of resources.”  
His assistant picked up the tube and held his nose while speaking in the long tradition of all engine drivers or conductors doing so.  
“Little reminder, right,” he mewled, “Ya know ‘s allright to bring your own narration an’ stuff, but please make sure to keep ‘em with you all the time. The view of the advancing Paradox train is too tempting for them, ya know, even the best trained narrator will temp’rarily forge’ all abou’ it.”

The paradox train.  
Screeching and chuffing through space, this majestic oily soot-covered tableau of a train is on one hell of a schedule. Running on the thin line that separates reality from fiction, aborted attempts from plot enriched sagas, and novels from their fanfiction simulacra.  
Where will it go?  
Nobody knows.  
Will the passengers inadvertently trapped inside its metal cage ever escape the paradox monstrosity?  
Time will tell.  
All that’s certain is, that the paradox train will continue its strange voyage, no matter how deep and abominable the recesses of fanfiction might be.  
No joke’s too low, no romance is too sticky and sweet, no backstory too tragic to keep the train from passing.  
A rumoured enigma, a mystery shrouded in secrets.  
And an easy way to catch a free ride.

The Doctor looked out of the window.  
He was running late.  
He had been far out in some distant galaxy, being charged for false parking when the alarm inside the TARDIS had gone off.  
It was all too embarrassing.  
He had almost forgotten about the Christmas Invasion.   
It was December the 1st already which meant only twenty four more days until he would be expected in London. A new alien threat would try to conquer the earth, he would arrive late, for effect that was, defeat the generic foe with some techno babble and Time Lord gimmick and then they could have a jolly good laugh and he would be heading out into space minding his own business before dawn again.  
And in order to get there in time, he had taken the Paradox Train, which was strictly forbidden, come to think of it, since this strange vehicle was tempering with reality itself and should therefore be avoided at any cost.  
Which was why Time Lords used to take it quite frequently. Orders were treated as guidelines and prohibitions some sort of polite plea. Laws were meant to be broken, you know. Well, except for that one time…this weird experiment of Koschei…well, actually they had not been allowed to talk about it ever again and their tutor had threatened to jump from the Academy’s roof if Koschei was to hand in his report and that considering how much he had liked his regeneration.  
True, during this brief episode of the Doctor’s life laws were bent. An image you wouldn’t easily forget, mind you…

The Doctor was quite enjoying the ride.  
For once he wouldn’t do the steering.  
And nothing to worry about.  
He could lean back in his seat, appreciate the lovely view and nothing…

“Good moaning.”

The Doctor looked up at the stern face with the little moustache which belonged to a conductor.

“I did not intend to onterupt you, but moo I see your tocket?”

The Doctor blinked in puzzlement.  
Wasn’t the TARDIS supposed to translate any alien languages for him? Perhaps because she had been stored in the luggage department, no that wouldn’t keep her from doing so.  
He cleared his throat.

“You want to see my what?”

“Your tocket,” the strangely dressed conductor continued, “the little pace of pooper you should always corry on a troon.“

This explanation did not have the desired effect as the Doctor was now questioning his hearing and sanity.

An elderly men, who until now had hidden his face behind a newspaper every time the Doctor had looked in his direction was now leaning closer to him.

“He means ticket,” he whispered.

“Oh, my ticket, yes of course…” the Doctor started patting his pockets until he had found his psychic paper.

The conductor cast a brief glance at it.  
He rolled his eyes as he continued his walk.  
“Oh, another Tim Lewd.”

The Doctor stared from his psychic paper to the disappearing tall figure dressed like a policemen. A French policemen, it hit him. From the 1930s perhaps.

“Excuse me…”

The old men with the white hat and the peculiar question mark pattern vest tried to vanish behind his newspaper again.  
“Yes?” he tried wearily without looking up.

“Excuse me, but in what kind of language did the conductor just speak?” the Doctor asked bluntly.

“English,” the little man continued slumping in his seat as to escape the Doctor’s glance, “English with a fake French accent…”

“Oi, professor…”  
There was a girl sitting next to the strange passenger.  
“You nudged me in the ribs…”

“Shut up, Ace,” the old man whispered and added, “and don’t look in his direction,” as his companion was about to sit up straight.

“Why not, professor,” she enquired further after a furtive glance, “he sure is a looker…”

The man was about to protest, when he straightened up in his seat, a pleased expression appearing on his face.  
“Well, you know, Ace…”  
He leaned closer and whispered something into his companion’s ear.

“So he’s one of them…” Ace exclaimed.

Right now the Doctor longed for a newspaper he could hide behind, himself.  
All this strange whispering.  
And the weird pair was looking at him in such a peculiar way.

But his mind was taken off the troubling passengers as a soothing melody played via the speakers prefiguring a short announcement.

“Attention, pissengers.”  
It was obviously the voice of the conductor, though he was holding his nose while speaking.  
“In a few minutes, we will reach a Flushbuck tonnel. Please remun in your sots. I repeat a Flushbuck tonnel is aprooching. ”

“What?” the Doctor mouthed.  
But before he could have turned to the old man and his strange eighties’ companion, his thoughts were drowned out by a ringing sound boring into his skull.


	2. Theta II

“Koschei?”

Theta’s voice was a mere whisper.  
It was past midnight and he knew they weren’t allowed to leave their dorm this late. Besides the crisp snow outside reflected the moonlight, distorting it into a million glistening rays which, unfortunately for Theta, illuminated the vast corridors which were supposed to be empty. Therefore Theta was still holding his breath from all the tiptoeing and peeking around corners.

Koschei was late.  
Mind you it was quarter past midnight and Theta should have met Koschei at midnight precisely (Koschei sure was a sucker for drama) but due to a squeaky floorboard and a rather overenthusiastic guard who just had to be awake at duty he had been forced to take a detour through the air ventilation system.  
But at least he was here before Koschei, Theta thought smugly. No sign of Koschei so far.  
Maybe he _had_ been there, a vicious little voice at the back of his head remarked, but he left since you didn’t bother to show up in time.

No, Theta was sure that Koschei would have waited if he had arrived early. Their meeting was of major importance.  
At least Theta was convinced that it was this way.  
Koschei had sent him a cryptic note, containing just these few words:  
“It is here. Meet me at midnight in the lab and we will ascend into glory.”  
Which in Theta’s opinion could only mean one thing. Okay, two things if Theta counted in the possibility of Koschei waiting to jump out at him to scare him.  
But Theta was convinced that Koschei must have finished his latest project successfully. Whatever that was.  
Lately Koschei had been very busy, most of the time he’d wandered around the corridors absorbed in his own thoughts, babbling incomprehensive nonsense. He’d secreted himself in the lab, staying there throughout day and night.

But now the lab was dark and empty. No sign of Koschei whatsoever.  
Theta shivered in the corridor just outside the lab, hopping from one foot to another. Mind you, a third option sprang to his mind.  
Koschei could have tricked him into arriving this late at night to be both caught and punished by the guards he’d send after him or it was another one of his ‘stress test’.  
Theta shuddered at the recollection of the terrible incident involving his mattress being set alight while he’d been sleeping soundly at it or a bucket of cold fish being poured over him during class.  
At least in his opinion Koschei should have gotten expelled for this.  
But no, they had been so glad Koschei had removed the, by the Vice-president of the Unorthodox Time-distortion committee most hated silver fish from the Academy’s pond (zingibris silverus nemesis) they had even given him a small medal for it.  
While the smell of old fish had lingered in Theta’s clothes for week.

Theta peaked through a crack in the door.  
Silence there. And nothing more.  
Except for the smacking sounds.

Theta leaned closer, pressing his face against the icy iron door staring through the crack, searching for the rude sounds’ origin.

“Koschei?” he asked softly again. Under his weight the door swung back, causing him to stumble into the forlorn room.  
The walls, blackened by innumerable experiments gone wrong, were pale and swallowed the dispersed moonlight. But the sounds echoed awkwardly through the shelves stacked with chemicals and one former head of staff’s preserved head (“He’d sworn that his face would haunt students even long after he was gone. Quite the joker he was.”).

There it was again. The wet and rather obscene sound of lips smacking.  
And it came from...

Theta turned and gasped.  
By the window, sitting in a small cylindrical was..  
A thing.  
It could only be described as ‘thing with long and sharp teeth’ which glistened in the moonlight, snarling across the dark room towards Theta. Oh dear, and now it had started to move in his direction...  
Theta ducked under a table and observed the strange little creature hopping oddly across the windowsill. On closer inspection it possessed no legs whatsoever; the lower half of its body disappeared inside the cylinder while it advanced by thrusting its abnormally long arms out and swinging itself forward.

Theta shivered and held his breath. It was completely dark down here; the thing couldn’t find him, could it? Unless of course it was nocturnal and fed on innocent students disobeying the Academy’s rules, oh no, oh no, it was here, it was so close, it had found him...!

Theta felt several layers of toothpick-like teeth sinking into his hand and yelped as he scrambled backwards, pushing the snarling thing as fast away as he could. He heard the creature whining and growling as he kicked it while getting to his feet and made a run for the door.

Where he bumped his head. On Koschei’s forehead.

“Koschei we have to get out of here, it’s coming to kill us all!”  
With a soft, pitying smirk Koschei caught Theta who had lost his footing and was about to faint as he heard the restless creature snarling behind his back.

“You’re so melodramatic,” Koschei remarked, adding with a sigh, “Pathetic.”  
He switched on the light and pulled up a chair to have something to dump Theta on.  
The snarling had stopped.  
“You’re running late, I’m gone for less than two minutes to use the restroom and when I come back you’ve not only turned off the lights but are shouting at me as well,” Koschei said accusingly while folding his arms.  
Theta turned his head to take a look at whatever had been attacking him.

He treated the now calm and immobile thing to a scrutinizing glare.  
“Looks like a plant,” Theta croaked as soon as he’d gained control over his vocal chords again.  
“It _is_ a plant,” Koschei remarked while picking up the greenish and eyeless shape by its flowerpot tenderly, “I named it Theta II.”

“Koschei that thing tried to kill me!” Theta blurted out, pointing an accusing finger at the plant. Two  
leaves unfolded to present a mouth-like structure laced with thorns. Theta pulled back his hand immediately.

“Oh, don’t be so rude,” Koschei said while cooing to Theta II, “You scared it.”  
“It scared me to death!” Theta snapped, “And it bit me! Look!”  
Theta presented his injured hand to Koschei. What had felt like a mortal wound turned out to be a small scratch without even the smallest trace of blood. Theta stared at his own fingers in disappointment. “I swear to you, Koschei, that thing attacked me,” Theta insisted.

“It’s scared of the dark,” Koschei explained, “You must have grazed the switch while sneaking into the room, thereby turning off the light. You have startled my poor Theta II. Isn’t that right? Cootchiecoo.”  
Theta dared to fold the arms in front of his chest as his hearts had stopped pounding as though they would explode and throw open his ribcage any minute.  
“Theta II?” Theta asked disbelievingly, still at a loss.  
“An honour, isn’t it?” Koschei replied while caressing the plant which, Theta could have sworn, was now purring quietly.  
“It’s… why should I feel flattered? That thing is nothing like me.”

“It’s afraid of the dark,” Koschei replied almost instantly. Theta sighed, too tired and distraught to argue.  
“I’ll admit it was partially Theta II’s fault that your first encounter hasn’t played out well,” Koschei went on after a while, “But I assure you that Theta II is really sorry and would like to apologize to you. If only it could speak.” There Koschei’s mind appeared to be occupied by a mad idea once again. “If only it could speak...” he repeated several times before making a mental note on how to improve Theta II’s abilities.

Theta felt a hand-like leave brushing over his fingers and looked down. The plant had snuggled up to him before patting the back of his hand, almost apologetically.

He looked back and forth between Koschei and his abominable creation.

“I hate you Koschei.”

“I know.”


	3. Doctor Hugh and the Mister

“Hell Loo? Are you all rod?”

The Doctor shook his head in order to dispose of the grotesque imagery of wild dancing colours, screeches and the feeling of silk being rubbed too quickly against his skin, leaving an unpleasant itchy, burning feeling.  
He massaged some life back into his temples.   
“That vision just now was…what…I mean…what…”

Somewhere in the distance, or at least it sounded like it happened somewhere in a distance a passenger was bickering with the definitely non-French French policeman.

“I just wanted to check on the pissenger. He licks rather suck.”

The Doctor was taking a deep breath, shaking his head briefly but vigorously before he focused on the display around him.   
He was back in the train.   
Good.   
There were no signs of Koschei, laboratories or plants.   
Even better.

“Are you feeling butter?” the weird policeman interrupted his thoughts.

“Butter?” the Doctor mumbled forlorn.

“Not bitter, butter,” the tall figure explained in a huffish voice and rolled his eyes.

“He means ‘better’,” a passenger sitting behind the Doctor whispered.

“Oh me, yes…fine, fine…”  
He licked his lips and ruffled his hair in a futile attempt to get a grip on the situation.

“That is good nose.”

“News” a voice whispered again.

The Doctor nodded lost in thought.   
“Right, right…mind you, I’ve got this terrible thing with…memory and some sort…” he spoke in a low inconspicuous voice and cleared his throat, “who are you again?”

“I’m officer Crêpetri. Well, I used to be an officer. Actually I was an underciver urgent for British intolligence posing as French Poluceman during World War II, assisting the French resistance. But since those glorious doos are over, I’m now working as condictor on this troon.”

The Doctor nodded, still smiling as the little cogwheels in his brain whirred into life, trying to decipher what nonsense he just had been forced to listen to.

A distant slap and a cry caused Crabtree to lose interest in the Doctor as he was about to do his duty.   
“Excuse moo,” he stated while walking in the direction of the commotion.

The Doctor turned to his prompter.   
“Thank you for your help…ehm…”

“Loretta,” the man with the long brown locks, dressed in clothes that had been fashionable roughly two thousand years back answered politely.

“Thank you, Loretta,” the Doctor continued unperturbed.

“Oh it was nothing,” Loretta continued, cheeks colouring as it was expected of a coy woman, “Officer Crabtree can be a burden sometimes, always so dutiful and with his vagaries... But a girl can’t resist a man in uniform, can it?”

Loretta gave a little chuckle.   
“He used to be a British undercover agent during World War II, infiltrating occupied France. How he survived there without being found out is beyond my comprehension.”

Crabtree returned.   
“Good moaning,” he said.

“It means ‘Good morning’. He says it all the time, no matter what time of day it is. In a place beyond time and space, can you believe it?”

The Doctor was about to ask Loretta what she knew about the train and its paradox. As far as he was concerned the passengers of this train were oblivious to their paradox existence and would lose all memories of the time passed if they were lucky enough to escape this monstrosity somehow.   
If…well this was the trouble.   
Some poor trapped characters would spend centuries, perhaps even millennia in here. And in the blink of an eye they were the silly sidekick of some whacky old hero.   
You never knew if and when the Paradox Train was letting you go. Or if you were condemned to travel for eternity.   
The Doctor was about to open his mouth when he got interrupted by Crabtree.

“It was just a bockering old ciple. It seems we just pissed a dymestic abuse tonnel.”

“It’s a bickering couple and domestic abuse tunnel,” Loretta explained.

“Alright, I think I’m getting the hang of it,” the Doctor whispered back.

“However, that’s when I bumped into a pissenger without a tocket,” Crabtree continued indignantly, “and he claims to be with you. Mr…”

“Oh, I’m just the Doctor.”

“Doctor who?” Loretta asked.

“Well, it will do for now. But Doctor is actually quite sufficient.”

“Doctor Hugh,” Crabtree had retrieved a small notebook and was taking notes, “do you carry any sort of identificution with you?”

The Doctor patted his pockets and was about to pull out his wallet when he was warned: “And no more of this psychic pooper. Some proper identificution. “  
His shoulders sagged.   
“Sorry,” the Doctor continued a bit embarrassed, “I must have lost them on some distant planet. You know how it is. A wonderful day outside, you’re set to go for a quiet morning walk and bam, passport eaten by some rabies infested stray opossum.”

Crabtree listened to this strange explanation unimpressed.   
“Tim Lewds,” he shook his head, “nothing but Tim Lewds on this troon. There is this old bearded gentleman at the end of the carriage, this two young boys constantly fighting each other, the old man with his female compunion who is once again trying to disappear behind his newspooper...”

He shook his head again.   
“Would you please pee up for your compuny?”

“I’m not…paying,” the Doctor tried uncertainly and despite any of Crabtree’s protests he continued, “paying for anyone. Whom are you even talking about?”

“As I sod before there is a pissenger without a tocket. He claims to be one of your assuciates and that you have his tocket. He refers to himself as the Mister.”

Before the Doctor had worked this one out, he felt a hand placed on his shoulder and an all too well known voice greeting him with: “Ah, Doctor, long time no see…”


	4. Long time no see

Theta turned around, thereby shoving the hand off his shoulder.  
"What?" he mumbled as his eyes were drawn to a pair of amber orbs, half hidden behind Koschei's eyelids.

"I said 'Long time no see'," Koschei repeated patiently. Too patiently for Theta's taste. Usually Koschei wouldn't even wait for Theta's reply before giving him a rap on the head for his inattention.  
This was something new.

"I…we briefly met yesterday, remember?" Theta asked, a most unsettling uneasiness creeping over him.  
The stare Koschei retorted was blank. Then he cocked his head to one side as if listening to some inner voice. He smiled softly while straightening up again.  
"Of course," he said. His voice was different, it was almost soothing.  
Theta tapped the side of his thigh out of nervousness.  
A considered Koschei was even scarier than the usual mad Koschei who'd jump out from under his bed and shout 'Oil of vitriol' before throwing an open bottle into his bed. And if Theta had been paying attention during chemistry class he would have known that oil of vitriol was a common name for sulphuric acid and then he wouldn't have waited to get into the bathroom after his blanket had dissolved and his pyjamas were almost see-through.

"May I have your attention once again, Theta?" Koschei asked.  
Theta found his eyes drawn back to Koschei's observant face. He was smiling mildly.  
And he was watching him intently. This wasn't a good sign.  
"I asked you whether or not you feel a headache coming on," Koschei repeated politely.  
An alarm somewhere inside Theta's head went off.

"You drugged me, didn't you?" Theta asked, turning pale, "You gave me something to drink and now you're waiting for me to double over with fume coming from my mouth or my skin peeling off or my eyes to pop…"

"Oh Theta…" Koschei began but Theta cut him off: "And you treat me so nicely because you don't want me to know what's going on but I can tell by the way you're talking to me and trying to appease me."

"Don't fret yourself," Koschei insisted. Theta took a step back.  
"There, you're doing it again. What have you done to me? Did you poison me? Oh please don't tell me you've poisoned me again, I like my current body, thank you very much… Oh, for Kasterborous' sake, what's going to happen to me?

"I can assure you that there's no need for you to be worried," Koschei spoke calmly while pulling up a chair. He was about to sit down at his writing desk as Theta nudged him aside panic stricken.

"And what is that?" he asked and pointed an accusing finger at the clipboard resting on Koschei's desk. "What are these columns? What are you taking notes of?"  
"Gladly this doesn't concern you," Koschei replied while grabbing the clipboard before Theta could snatch it from his desk, "metaphorically speaking that is. It's all part of an experiment."

"I'm usually also part of your experiments," Theta snapped while tugging at the paper, "What does it say?"  
"That you're an imbecile," Koschei growled while pushing aside Theta's fingers.  
"At least you're behaving normal again," Theta sighed while glancing over Koschei's shoulders to catch a glimpse of his diagrams.  
"What does it predict will happen to me?" Theta nagged on.

"Nothing's going to happen to you," Koschei said but corrected himself, "That is to say until you drive me to a point where I'll stuff you into the Academy's chimney. But I can assure you that nothing is going to happen to you," and there Koschei treated Theta to one of the smug smiles he hated the most, "Because it has already happened."

Theta stared at him sceptically. He folded his arms.  
"What happened?"  
"Doesn't matter, really," Koschei replied.  
"What do you mean it doesn't matter? It matters to me!" Theta grabbed Koschei by the collar before shaking him violently.

Koschei cleared his throat while struggling to detach Theta's fingers from his robe.  
"It would have an influence on the results of my research if I told you about the procedure itself," Koschei replied before retrieving a pair of glasses from the recesses of his robes before placing them firmly on his nose.  
Theta knew that he was wearing them only for the look of the thing.

"You see Theta, when one is given a sweet but is told that they are receiving an active treatment…"  
"It's called the placebo effect," Theta replied a glimmer of hope surfacing in his mind, "So you only wanted to test my reaction on the false information that you've used me for medical research without my consent, right?"

Koschei smiled while patting Theta's back amicably.  
"Nearly," he replied, "But no."  
Theta felt the dread rising again.  
"Then what _did_ you do to me?"

Koschei handed Theta the clipboard. Theta inspected the chart and studied the introduction at the back of the pages. And the method. And the procedure.  
He raised his eyes disbelievingly to meet Koschei's gaze.

"You did what?!" he shrieked while leaving through the records again.  
"A small sacrifice was needed in ordered to serve science," Koschei tried defending his actions.  
"Next time you sacrifice yourself when you try to serve science!" Theta snapped. He hauled the clipboard at Koschei. He caught it in mid-air.

"Koschei, you put me in an induced coma!" Theta whined, "For three weeks!"  
"I refer to it as semi-conscious deep sleep, if you don't mind me saying so," Koschei explained.  
"I don't mind you saying so," Theta snapped, "I don't even mind if it was to be named after you but I _do_ mind being part of the test series without my knowledge or consent!"

"Just wait until my parents here of this incident," Theta went on while considering his next step.  
"Oh, I told your parents all about it. They even agreed to my proposal," Koschei replied smugly, "Oh and I read the mail you've received during the past three weeks and can assure you that nothing worth mentioning has happened. You do lead a very dull life, Theta."

"Koschei, I…" Theta began, struggling to find the correct words that would express his anger, "I just lost three weeks of my life."

Koschei treated him to a scrutinizing glare.  
Eventually he shrugged.

"Well, in your case I'd say: no harm done."


	5. Foreign currencies

“Doctor!”

The Doctor was dizzy with the memories hibernating for eons suddenly surfacing He sat up straighter.   
“What was that?” he mumbled.

“Have you come back to your senses?” the Master wanted to know while pouring tea from a delicate china pot into a cup.

“I…ehm…yes…what?” the Doctor tried.

“You hit your head or something,” the Master continued as he handed the first cup to the Doctor before pouring himself another one.

“Well, yes…I might…think…”  
The Doctor was still shaken up by those scenes. That was the strange thing about the flashbacks. Shouldn’t they be just pictures, scenes of your life passing before your eyes?  
But those flashbacks…They felt real. The feeling of the fabrics brushing against his skin, the smells, the sound of the stone slabs under his feet.

“And there he goes again,” the Master mumbled, opened the Doctor’s mouth and poured some tea into it.

The Doctor bend over as choking sounds emerged from his tea-burnt throat.   
The Master whacked him on the back.

“Are you trying to kill me?” the Doctor sat up coughing.

“In general? Yes,” the Master stated unmoved and poured another cup, “right now: no.”  
“You were daydreaming again,” the Master felt impelled to reply under the questioning stare the Doctor shot him, ”Well, there was this old saying about waking up a Time Lord by pouring tea down his throat.”

“Actually you are supposed to pour the tea down my trousers, but come to think of it, I’m quite glad you refrained from doing so.”

“You’re welcome,” the Master grinned, taking a sip.

The tea was delicious, the Doctor had to admit after trying it himself.   
“Hm, Darjeeling with a hint of vanilla and nutmeg,” the Doctor smacked his lips. He considered this.   
“Where did you get this tea?”

“Teacat.” the Master answered matter-of-factly.

“What does the Teacat do?”

“The Teacat makes tea and obviously sells it too.”

The Doctor gave the Master a long questioning wide-eyed stare, which made the Master wonder whether his eyes were going to fall out if he opened them any further.

There was a purring sound.   
The Doctor stared down. And even further down.   
In the carriages aisle a cat carrying a vendor’s tray and several spare teapots strapped to its back, was standing on his hind legs looking expectantly at the two.

“Delicious,” the Master sighed and handed the china back to the cat.

“Meow”

“Yes, yes fine,” the Master padded his pockets and retrieved his wallet, “how much did you say again?”

“Meow”

“Alright.”  
The Master exchanged some strange looking notes with the peculiar feline creature who purred with delight. He handed him back two small wrapped up cookies, before reattaching the china to the various straps and skittered away.

“You talked to a cat,” the Doctor had finally regained control over his vocal chords after a long questioning his common sense had forced his sanity to undergo.

“Cheetah virus,” the Master replied but continued after seeing the look on the Doctor’s face, “Well I’m no longer infected, but I can still communicate with other felines.”  
He disposed of the wrappers broke the cookie in half and read the little note inside before giving a half-hearted chuckle.

The Doctor followed his example, though he re-read the sentence written on the little slip of paper.   
“’Captain I appear to be pregnant’- ‘Shut up, Data’,” he read out loud, “what kind of cookie is this?”

“Rejected fanfiction ideas cookies,” the Master stated while taking a bite.

“And how does it taste?” the Doctor wanted to know.

“Disappointing and tasteless,” he deducted, “I wish I had still some tea to drown out its shallowness.”

“Good moaning.”

The Doctor groaned.   
Oh no, not him again.

“Good moaning,” the Master replied unnecessarily cheerful, “How might we be of assistance officer Croptree?

“Crêpetri,” the addressed replied indignantly, “I was going to have a small tick to your froond Doctor Hugh.”

“Doctor Hugh?” the Master asked suppressing a chuckle while glancing at the Doctor.

“Yes, yes, alright, what is it now?”

“It seems you still haven’t peed for your froond’s tocket.”

“What tocket? I mean what ticket?”

“The tocket for your froond the Mister.”  
He nodded in the direction of the Master.

“You haven’t peed for my tocket?” the Master asked pretending to be hurt, “Outrageous.”

Officer Crabtree rolled his eyes.

“You know what, fine. I’m paying for the bloody tocket,” the Doctor fished out his wallet, “how much do I owe you?”

“Farty three and twentyfive pince.”

The Master chuckled.

“Now you’re talking, here we go...”  
The Doctor hesitated.   
“What is the Paradox Train’s currency again?”

“Recommendations, requests and reviews,” the Master whispered into the Doctor’s ear, “but they accept followers, kudos and favourites as well.”

The Doctor went through his wallet.   
“I have sixty Ood food stamps twelve Sontaran pennies and about three hundred sardine dollars.”

“Wait,” the Master interrupted him, “how come you got twelve Sontaran pennies?”

“Long story,” the Doctor began, “I was out in the tundra of Callix when...”

“Alright, I don’t want to hear it anyway,” the Master replied truthfully, “But I still got some sardine dollars, rare Mountaineering pounds from Eveconic mountains, that I would trade for let’s say three pennies?”

The Doctor placed the bills on the small table.   
“Only if you throw in your sardine dollars as well.”

“Alright, here are twohundred and fifty sardine dollars and I throw in six Sleethen silvercoins coined with the empress’ face on it.”  
The Master added some notes, but prevented the Doctor from grabbing them.  
“But I happen to know,” he continued with a devious glint, “that you hide a rare Silurian Shilling on your person. You know the jubilee edition with the face of bow on one side.”

Cursing the Doctor retrieved the coin from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Excuse moo,” Officer Crabtree’s patience was running short, “will someone please pee up.”

“I thought the term was to ‘cough up’, but the older you get the less certain you become about things...” the Master added.

They sorted through their notes.   
Finally the Master thrust a bundle into Crabtree’s hands.   
“Here are seventy hundred thirty three sardine dollars. Go to the Teacat, he will exchange them for a more common currency.”

Officer Crabtree straightened his uniform.   
“Tim Lewds,” he mumbled while continuing his walk.

“Who is Tim Lewd?” the Master wanted to know.

“Don’t ask,” the Doctor growled, but his attention got drawn to a little yellow blinking light on the carriage’s ceiling.

“Oh, no. Here we go again,” he mumbled.

It was labelled ‘Flashback tunnel ahead’.


	6. Opossum sleigh

Theta was wandering through the snow covered forests, pondering about the mistake he had made.   
Well, the two mistakes.   
Number one had been applying for a course of ‘applied wildlife’ without checking that it was held by the first priest of intellectual infamy, better known as the Lemming.   
Yes, reincarnation is a dog of the female persuasion as they would say.   
Taking a course by the Lemming Lord, as he was mockingly addressed by his fellow colleagues, was quite an experience.   
Not only did in his theory wildlife revolve around eating lemmings, but his lectures were ever so often interrupted by him shouting “Hawk!” and diving for cover, if he had mistaken a swaying branch for a diving predator.  
Theta’s first mistake.

This afternoon’s trip in the snow had ended prematurely, as the Lemming Lord had fainted after hearing the hooting of an owl and had to be carried back by some teacher’s pets, though in Theta’s opinion teacher’s pet’s pets would have been more appropriate.   
At the sight of their teacher being wrapped up tightly in his various tiny robes and coats and taken back to the academy, the remaining students had decided on taking the afternoon off.   
However, Theta had been captivated by the glistening forest and sparkling crystals, which was why he had decided on continuing his journey deeper into the romantically snow-covered woods.   
Theta’s second mistake.

There he was now. Sitting in the middle of the white hell a forest provided in the winter, with snow covering up his tracks, so that Theta had been unable to follow them back.   
Here he was, lost and tired in the wildlife, condemned to starve to death.   
If only there had been a lemming around...  
Well he would probably get expelled for eating one of those, considering that the Lemming Lord was a faculty member.   
Well if he froze to death...  
Theta considered this for a while.   
If he took off his coat and the three robes he was wearing underneath it, he might freeze to death. And probably regenerate.   
And if, if he was to cut off his hand or possibly even leg during an early regeneration cycle, he might be able to grow it back.   
So he could eat the spare hand...  
Theta looked at his left hand for a while.

However his train of thoughts was interrupted by a snowstorm approaching him.   
Not approaching in general.   
It looked like some sort of local tornado thundering through the forest, sprinkling its surrounding with chunks of ice.   
Theta was unable to move and stared at the thing as it moved closer at high speed only to miss him by inches as it came to a halt, showering him in a cloud of snow.

“Oi!”

There was a voice calling him and as the cloud settled and he had dusted off most of the snow, Theta was able to see a figure hopping down from some sort of sleigh and moving in his direction.   
Funnily enough, there appeared to be no one pulling the sleigh, as the reins simply disappeared into the high snow without showing any animal attached to it.   
The fashionable goggles and scarf covering the lower half of his face were removed to reveal Koschei as the mad driver of this monstrosity.

“What are you doing out here?” Koschei wanted to know as he brushed off some more snow from Theta’s coat by tapping him, especially his backside rather vigorously and in Theta’s opinion unnecessarily forceful.

“I’m just, taking a small walk, you know,” he lied, as the snow melted off his blushing face, “getting inspired by nature coated in white.”

“Thinking about eating your hand,” Koschei added.

Theta sighed.   
“I’m not going to argue with you,” he stated exhausted, “You can mock me as much as you want, but please, can you give me a lift?”

“Sure,” Koschei offered as he guided Theta over to his sleigh,” How about this: I give you a lift now and then when we’re back in the dorm warm and cosy, then I’ll make fun of you.”

“Agreed,” Theta nodded.

Koschei removed a big broom from the sleigh and started sweeping away the snow drift he had manoeuvred into involuntarily as he had avoided running over Theta.   
And revealed...

“You’re using _them_ to pull it?” Theta exclaimed.

“Didn’t I tell you about the swift way of transportation in the snow?” Koschei chuckled while brushing off the snow off his five opossums, who were snarling threateningly and taking experimental bites out of the broom.   
“Mind you it takes a while to free their fur from all the snow afterwards.”

He attached the broom again.   
“Which leads me to another of my little inventions, but enough of this for now.”

Theta stared open mouthed at the assemblage of snow covered shaggy wild beasts growling at each other as Koschei hopped back on the sleigh.   
Theta treated the opossums to a scrutinizing stare.   
“Wait a minute.”

Koschei was about to pick up the reins, but hesitated.

“I thought you sheltered only four opossums,” Theta remarked puzzled.

“Yes, the one at the top isn’t mine. It’s yours.”

“Wait, what?” Theta protested, “How dare you use my opossum as sleigh dog.”

“I’m not, alright,” Koschei tried to defend himself as he pointed at the complicated net of robes, “See, it’s not even attached to a harness, it’s just there to keep the rest going...”  
He broke of ominously.

“Koschei, we’re not talking about horses. Opossums, don’t follow other opossums in a stampede. So why using mine as well?”

“Bait?” Koschei ventured carefully.

But before Theta could have protested they had already set off at high speed.   
Four opossums running to catch their lunch and a fifth one ahead of them, trying to outrun the rest.


	7. Various Tunnels

“I said are you all right?”

It was the Master’s voice. And he sounded slightly annoyed.

“Yes, yes of course...I’ll go make us some tea, while you remove the harnesses.”

“Harnesses?”

The Doctor snapped back into reality and stared at the Master still slightly puzzled.   
“Flashback tunnels,” he croaked as if it had been a common explanation.

“Tunnels?”

“Yes, Flashback tunnels, we just passed through one. They’re cheap plot devices.”

The Master considered this.   
“A flashback,” he inquired cocking an eyebrow at the Doctor.

“Yes.”

“And a pretty kinky one too,” the Master continued, “involving a harness...”

“No, no, no,” the Doctor interrupted him with, to the Master’s delight, colouring cheeks, “not that kind of flashback. Just a normal flashback. Haha, snow and opossums pulling sleighs...you know. Typical festive stuff...”

“You had a flashback about my opossum sleigh I’m honoured,” the Master cooed, “I miss the little rascals. Lost them on some distant planet. PosydonXCVII I think it was called.”

“The desert planet?” the Doctor asked shocked, “With nothing but barren land? You left your precious opossums there to starve?”

“Funny,” the Master continued unperturbed by the puppy eyes staring at him in horror, “I don’t remember a desert. More like fresh rain forests, animals, a fertile paradise.”

“No, no, no, that can’t be right,” the Doctor retrieved a Gallifreyan calendar from his pocket, with ornamental circular writing and little galaxy replicas that could be moved around to simulate exact constellations, “any idea when you left that bunch of fuzzy pets there?”

“About one millennium ago?” the Master considered this, “or two millennia?”

The Doctor did some calculations. His eyes widened as he looked up to the Master his lower lip quivering in despair.

The Master chuckled.

“You!”

“It wasn’t my fault,” the Master tried to defend himself.

“It was you!”

“Calm down, alright. It wasn’t my fault, they escaped from their cages.”

“And you didn’t search for them?”  
The Doctor’s mood had changed from about to cry to furious.

“I was sure they would survive in the wilderness, you know with plenty of food being available.”

“They’ve devoured one whole planet’s population!”

“In my defence, they’ve looked only a little peckish last time I saw them,” the Master didn’t like the admonishing stare he was shot,” And anyway, that’s the way it goes. Eat or be eaten, it’s an opossum-eat-opossum world.”

The Doctor sat back and crossed his arms in front of his chest, what the Master knew to be his ‘I’m still right but I’m not going to argue about it’ pose.   
He looked out of the window and watched the stars passing them by.

“You had a flashback?”

The Doctor nodded.

“A little mental re-enactment of my opossum sleigh?”

The Doctor was getting uncomfortable with this inquisitive streak.   
“Yes,” he ventured carefully.”

“So all this rambling about icicles and snowballs had nothing to do with me mixing a bit of snorafruit into your tea, right?”

The Doctor’s jaw dropped and he turned a bit paler than usual.   
“You...you poisoned me?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that, no,” the Master tried to sound levelly, “Let’s say, I’ve found a small sachet and wasn’t sure if it had gone off already.”  
The Doctor continued to stare at the Master.   
“Which I’m positive now it had, so no harm done?”

“That’s it,” the Doctor snapped, “I’m off.”

“Come on,” the Master tried to conciliate him, but he had already stormed out of the carriage.

“You’re being ridiculous,” the Master shouted after him, following the fast strut.

“No, I’m only trying to survive,” the Doctor replied, “We’re Time Lords. It’s in our genes.”

Finally the Master had been able to catch up with the Doctor, who, as it turned out, had almost bumped into a young lavender haired man wearing fashionable clothes.

“It’s nothing, really…” he tried to appease the Doctor, “I shouldn’t even be here blocking the passage, but…” and there he started fumbling with a small package in his pocket, “I really need a smoke.”

The Doctor had by now become aware of the Master’s presence, yet he considered it to be rather impolite to terminate this conversation this quickly.

Garry, as the Doctor soon found out, had been one of the Paradox Train’s regular passengers.   
“I tried giving it up, but…” he sighed, “thing is, it is rather hard, I’ve run out of substituted candies and every time I ask this strange conductor how much longer we would be going until we reach the next stop he says something like ‘farty minutes’, which I don’t find amusing at all.

“Quite a torment,” the Doctor commented.

“Speaking of candies,” the Master started rummaging through his coat’s pockets and pulled free a brown paper bag.   
“Would you like a Jellybaby?” he asked in a mockingly deep smooth voice.

“Yeah, right,” Garry thanked him, “cheers mate.”

The Doctor nudged the Master’s ribs.   
The Master sniggered.

“Turns out I’ve run out of lemon drops and I have this strange oral fixation, where I get kind of edgy if there isn’t anything to suck at.”

The Doctor felt implied to say something like: ‘Then I’ve got just the thing for you.’ but thought better of it.   
He shook his head.   
Where had this come from?

“Homoerotic tension tunnels,” Garry explained having seen the puzzled look on the Doctor’s face.   
He sighed.   
“We pass an awful lot of them.”  
He chewed on his Jellybaby.   
“Still it could be worse. We could be passing an mpreg tunnel. You know with all male passengers suddenly experiencing wisdom teeth problems, strange cravings, water in their feet and other clichés associated with pregnancy.”

The Doctor was about to enquire this matter further, when the Master slapped him forcefully.

“Hey, what was that for?” the Doctor asked rubbing his cheek.

“Domestic abuse tunnels,” the Master explained matter-of-factly.

“What?” the Doctor turned to him, still rubbing his hurting cheek, “Wait we’re not even married?”

“That’s because you would never tell your parents about me. Am I not good enough for you?”  
The Master slapped him again.   
“Sorry, Domestic abuse tunnel again, I’m afraid.”

“You’re making them up. I bet there isn’t even such a thing.”

Both turned to Garry, who just shrugged.   
“This is the Paraox Train, right?” he mumbled in between chews, “I think it’s hard to believe that...oh shit not again...”

The Doctor and the Master followed Garry’s gaze and looked up at the ceiling where a yellow light was blinking.

The Master sounded almost pleadingly.   
“Oh, please don’t tell me it’s another of this wibbly-wobbly timey-whiny things.”

“Actually, it’s timey-wimey…”

“I know what I said!”  
He straightened up his suit.   
“And you think just because of a yellow blinking light, the whole passengers are going to have a flashback...”

But the Doctor was no longer listening, but stared intently at a point a three inches behind the Master’s ears.


	8. In the bleak third winter

There was a small crowd of students lounging around the Academy's corridors. The winter had turned out to be extremely harsh and snow-full as it had hit Gallifrey with its full frosty force (mostly because the current Head-Counsellor of Perpetuated-Misconception was due to a strange twist of logic convinced that if Time Lords could harness time's power they'd be able to manipulate the weather, too; sadly even after the third wintry period this year the members of the Cloud Enhancement Committee still weren't convinced) and due to the dwindling reserves of coal and firewood the Academy was forced to cancel most of the classes in the afternoon, giving the students half a snow day.  
Though some suspected that the faculty members were secretly hoping that with the afternoons free and the cold outside and the hormones in between sooner or later most of the student would freeze to death during tests of courage. Or due to their own stupidity and disorientation.  
Anyway this way the number of students would decrease steadily, saving the faculty members time and money.  
Two or three more winters this year, the a faculty member was believed to have suggested, and the number of students could drop by a third.

So it was no wonder that whoever possessed enough self-respect not to be seen with those ridiculous bobble hats or had a spare book that could be used for a nice warm fire in their room stayed indoors. And since Time Lords of a feather would flock together they spent most of their time huddled together in groups or surrounded themselves with hot-heads in a desperate attempt to stay warm.

A small group hung around the corridors of the dormitory, acting cool while trying to stay warm. But their attention was soon drawn to the door of Theta.  
Clouds of smoke floated steadily upwards from under his door and the smell of burnt coal soon filled the surrounding area.  
The congregation of students had moved over to inspect the door closely.  
They looked at one another, trying to make sense of that.  
"He's not been hiding his rations of firewood, has he?" one of them asked after clearing his throat several times in an attempt to draw his colleagues' attention.

"It's probably just one of Koschei's booby traps," another one suggested.

"His room could be burning."

"Impossible," another one almost cut him off, "The temperature is below zero, you don't get a fire this easily. Also, what should be set alight in his room?"

The considered this for a moment.

"Clothes," one suggested.

"Books and paper," another one added.

"But you don't get matches these days. They cost as much as a clean towel these days," one of them pointed out.  
"He's got a point there."

"Wait," another one interjected, "What do you mean 'clean towels'? I thought... when you get them back from the washing they're not fresh?"

"You have to give the washing staff a little something to ensure that they wash them properly instead of replacing your dirty towels which less dirty one from other students," the prior speaker explained matter-of-factly, "Everyone knows that."

"Well, I didn't!" his conversation partner piped up, his face reddening as he slowly melded into the background before fleeing from the other's bemused stares.

The remaining students stared back at the door in silence.  
The clouds of smoke were becoming thicker and thicker.

"A cigarette end might have started it," one suggested.

"Spontaneous self combustion, if you ask me," another one pointed out.

"Or the chilli con canine* from last night," another one smirked.  
(*Not only wood was scarce in those cold days but proper meat as well. And the cooks didn't bother to make a fuss about it.)

There was muffled laughter. It only stopped when someone on the other side of the door started coughing.

"So... you think we should help him?" one asked cautiously.

"It's probably too late anyway," another one shook his head.

"But he's just..." the aforegoing student started again but fell silent at the sound of a creaking door.

To their horror it originated from the room next to Theta's which could only mean...

"What are you doing in front of my room?" a rather bamboozled Koschei with a large and squeaking rat under his arm asked the befuddled students, "Can't a man get about his business in his own room?"

As one the assembled students pointed at Theta's door, slowly disappearing in the smoke.

Koschei sighed, thrust the rat into one the students unresisting arms and pushed open the door.

"Theta if you could stop burning to death for just a moment that would be rather nice, you're upsetting your colleagues again!" Koschei shouted while pulling his robes up over his nose to keep from inhaling too much smoke.

"Koschei!" Theta wailed while flinging his arms around his friend.

Koschei sighed while patting Theta's back tenderly.  
He cast a glance over his shoulder and the congregation of students, getting the hint, vanished in no time.  
Koschei's rat found itself on its own feet again as soon as the one designated to hold it had realized what had happened to him. Lazily it walked into Theta's room, occasionally sneezing.

"You've already opened a window as I can see," Koschei pointed out before trying to make out the terrible smoke's source. He discovered one of it in the mouth of his rat.

"Koschei...my cookies..." Theta sniffed. He blew his nose on Koschei's collar and buried his face in his friend's robe.  
Koschei patted Theta's back amicably, trying to ignore the loud trumpeting.  
"I just... I just wanted to... tooo..." Theta began but Koschei silenced him by placing a soft kiss on his forehead. Theta cleared his throat and wiped his eyes on Koschei's sleeves.  
"It's so hard to get into a festive mood in here," Theta began as soon as he'd regained control over his vocal chords, "Well, actually it does remind me a lot of home... clammy rooms, no charcoal..."

"And the smell of burnt dishes," Koschei added.  
Theta sobbed again.

"I thought trying one of my mother's recipes would bring a festive mood to my room," Theta sighed with a heartbreaking tremble on his lower lips, "I even burned one of my chemistry books to get my oven started. But look what they've become..."

Theta pointed at the sad heap in the sink. Obviously the cookies had caught fire and, panic-stricken, Theta had tried to extinguish the flames by pouring water over them. What remained was one deformed and soggy clot which smelled slightly of cinnamon.  
Half of it had already been devoured by Koschei's rat who Koschei shooed away while breaking off a small bit to prove to Theta that his cooking skills weren't as bad as he reckoned.

Theta winced at the sound of Koschei's teeth grinding as he chewed.  
Koschei swallowed before shaking his head in recognition.  
"You got the recipe right, even the baking time," Koschei coughed while hitting his chest, "They taste like your mother's cookies."

Theta harrumphed quietly. Deep down in his two hearts of hearts he knew that it was true; he had inherited his mother's culinary skill-lessness.  
"And what am I supposed to do now?" Theta asked almost in tears again.

The rat, until now gnawing hungrily at the cookie remnants bit off a large chunk, knowing that its tasty meal was about to be adjourned as Koschei picked it up.

"Put the lump on top of your oven and let it dry. Then we can make a nice bonfire and roast marshmallows over it," Koschei suggested while patting Theta's back tenderly.


	9. The demon barber

“Doctor? Doctor? A brain-dead Time Lord who wants to be cremated alive says what?”

“What?” the Doctor snapped back out of his memories and stared a grinning Master in the face. Though the smile on the Master’s lips soon faded.   
“Forget it,” he growled while glowering at the Doctor. The Master leaned closer, staring into the deepest depth’s of the Doctor’s hazel eyes, looking at him as if he’d seen him for the first time in his life.   
“I wonder...” the Master mumbled before reaching out for the Doctor’s temples. The Doctor pushed his hands aside. “Don’t even think about it,” the Doctor admonished him, “I’m doing fine without your rummaging around in my brain, thank you very much. I’ve learned my lesson. Remember when back in our days at the Academy...”  
The Doctor stopped in mid-sentence as he noticed that their surrounding was becoming more and more wobbly as it twisted around itself.   
“What’s that?” the Doctor asked, suddenly standing up.

“What?” the Master asked.

“Stop it, stop it!” one of the train’s dubious passengers came running up to him and pushed the Doctor aside, “Don’t say another word!”

The squiggly lines disappeared as soon as they had emerged. The passenger wiped his brow before adjusting his dark locks.

“What was that?” the Doctor asked while trying to inspect the air. He retrieved his sonic screwdriver from the depths of his coat and gave the nearest seat an experimental scan.

“It’s a flashback,” the fellow passenger explained, “And if I’m not mistaken it was you who caused us all of this trouble. You, and your strange friend...” He looked back and forth between the Master and de Doctor. The Master grinned maniacally while waving at him.

“He’s mad you know,” the slightly unnerved passenger babbled, evading the Master’s gaze, “He just wouldn’t... He just started to glow and...”  
“He tried to kill me,” the Master explained to the Doctor, “After being promised the fastest and smoothest shave in the world I found my throat cut. But I must say he wasn’t too pleased that I stood up again and asked for my money back since he missed a spot.”

“You weren’t supposed to notice that,” the accused barber shrieked, “You were supposed to be dead. How many lives have you got?”   
“Nine .Eight still left of them,” the Master replied.   
The Doctor stared at him puzzled.   
“Cheetah virus? Don’t you remember? I got infected on the Cheetah Planet and the side effects are still haunting me.” The Master stretched and purred, “On the upside I’m nocturnal know and can see in the dark.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to have a homicidal passenger travelling with you?” the Doctor considered the fact they had just been opposed to.

“You’ll find that it is expocted of him,” the train’s conductor had joined the conversation, looming over the nervous barber with the dark locks, “For his name is Swoony Tit.”  
“Sweeney Todd,” the man himself corrected him unnerved.

“But you’re a legend,” the Doctor wondered, “you’re not real.”  
“I _am_ real,” Sweeney Todd insisted, pulling out his razor defensively.   
“It did feel real,” the Master added, “But if you don’t trust my word, Doctor, I’m sure Mr Todd will treat you to one of his special shaves...”  
“What has been passed on is a legend. But I am real. The things you think you know are not,” Sweeney Todd explained, “It’s the myth that lives and I who dies. It’s the...”

“Good groof, we’re pissing through a miludramu tinnel again,” the conductor said.   
“He means melodrama tunnel,” the Master said.   
“Yes, I know, I think I’m getting the hang of him,” the Doctor explained.

“...for he shall not be freed from the terror of unforgiveness.”

“At least we’re iver the woost,” the conductor took off his ridiculously tall hat and wiped his brow.

“over the worst,” the Doctor found himself correcting him automatically.

“Where were we?” Sweeney Todd asked.   
“Never mind that,” the Doctor went on but was interrupted by the demon barber who prodded him with his razor: “Now I remember. You, Sir, are the creator of these most inconvenient flashbacks.”

“Nun’s sons,” the conductor shook his head.   
“I beg your pardon?” the Doctor asked, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to.   
“I said nun’s sons. It is the tinnels that are creating these flushbucks.”

“He means nonsense, tunnel and flashbacks,” the Master added.   
“I know, I know,” the Doctor waved him into silence.   
“I tell you, it’s these two...” the barber pointed an accusing razor at the two Time Lords, “...two individuals who keep interrupting our journey with their flashbacks.”

“You mean like the time when...” the Doctor began and the air around him started to glisten. Sparks flew all around as his surrounding started to twirl and fade into squiggly lines.

“No, no, no more of that!” Sweeney Todd shouted, interrupting the beginning distortion, “You see? He’s triggering these recollections by using keywords, typical connections and linking scenes together.”

“You’ve been drunkin these spiruts with peepeesods again. I tolled the toekit that I don’t want them sold on board.”

“He means...” the Master began but the Doctor cut him off almost instantly: “I’m sure I don’t even want to know, this time.”

“He does remind me of Epsilon,” the Master went on, indicating the train’s conductor.   
The Doctor retorted a blank look.

“Don’t you remember him? Used to attend engineering classes with us. Always a pain in the neck.”

“Oh, I think I remember now,” the Doctor began, oblivious to Sweeney Todd’s waving and shouting, “It must have been during my first year at the Academy...”

“I believe this is called a lonk,” the conductor added before everything around the Doctor disappeared in the wobbly mist of recollection...


	10. The R Bomb

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? What you are about to witness is bound to make you question science’s most fixed laws. You’ll find yourself thrown into an abyss of self-doubts as you will not be able to fully comprehend what you see, you’ll accuse your eyes of deceiving you as your mind...”

“Oh, for Kasterborous’ sake...!”

“Get a move on, Koschei!”

Koschei cleared his throat before readjusting the papers he was holding. Also, to most of his student’s bemusement and Theta’s annoyance he was wearing his fake glasses again.

“Mr Berseklav may I ask of you to ensure silence and order during my presentation?” Koschei addressed their professor of Advanced Engineering directly while readjusting his papers once again.

“Proceed,” the professor didn’t bother to sit up any straighter during Koschei’s speech but added with a hint of menace, “And as you are well aware it is _Mrs_ Berseklav since the last regeneration.”

Koschei looked the professor in the eye, innocence radiating from his face. Not even a spaniel tied to a lamppost in pouring rain could look as pitiful as Koschei. He knows his way into people’s minds, Mrs Berseklav found herself pondering as she rolled her eyes, signalling Koschei to continue, he is actually convincing me that he didn’t do anything on purpose. For the mere attempt he should get expelled...

“...a project of utmost importance, if I may say so. It will revolutionize warfare as we know it. This,” he indicated the large box-like object hidden underneath a blanket, “Will dominate combat and incapacitate our enemies. This little ace of genius workman ship,” here Koschei couldn’t suppress a self-satisfactory grin, “will help us win any upcoming war.”

“You’ve said that about your previous inventions before!”

“Well, then _this_ time you can be sure it is the real thing,” Koschei snapped and adjusted his glasses.

“Behold!” he exclaimed while pulling back the blanket.

“What is _that_?”

“Oh Gods, that stinks!”

“It’s a chemical agent! I thought students weren’t allowed to tinker with them. School expulsion!

“It looks like a dead rat!”

“It _is_ a dead rat!”

“Will you all just shut up for a moment?” Koschei yelled over the rising voices. Soon he had discovered the centre of the commotion and threw his glasses at the most troublesome student in the last row.

“Ouch!”

As he had expected the room fell silent.   
“Thank you,” Koschei straightened his lab coat, a mad scientist’s grin popping up on his lips.   
“What you see here is the ultimate contact mines disguised in the perfect manner: vermin. Or to be more precise: a deceased rodent.”  
He turned around a flipchart with a blueprint on it.   
“As you may notice there are extremely sensible sensors at the whiskers, a small fish eyes camera implanted somewhere in between the eyes and an infrared reflection –detector, sensing the slightest movement in front of it. The microchip scans the reflection off metal – thereby detecting Dalekanium with one hundred percent guaranty.”

“So you stuffed a grenade up a rat’s arse,” the student in the last row summed it up.

Koschei put on another pair of glasses.  
“What is your name, my fellow colleague?” he asked the person occupying the seat in the last row, honey dripping from every syllable.   
“Epsilon,” the student replied earnestly.   
“Of course,” Koschei added amicably, “Epsilon I’d like you to assist me during a little demonstration. Would you kindly hold this crystal? Thank you!”

Koschei had pressed a small, pyramid shaped object into the students unresisting hands.   
Theta saw the glint in Koschei’s eyes.

“Duck!” he yelled before flinging himself to the ground, a number of colleagues following him suit.  
There was a whirring sound, a flash and en echo of an explosion which left at least 12 students deaf for a week.

“You see,” Koschei explained while crouching out from his hiding place under a table, “The only major flaw is that the rat bomb fails to distinguish between Dalekanium and copper pyrites which, at least in my humble opinion is a negligible imperfection. And I am sure my friend Epsilon would agree if he could talk right now. Or hear what I have said. I see the explosion has disposed of both of his ears. Oh, he’s starting to glow already. Let’s see what the new regeneration brings; for all of our sakes we can hope that he’ll be a less tiring student. Anyway class, thank you for your attention.”


	11. The Miry Sow

They were sitting in a different carriage now, though the Doctor’s attention had been drawn to a small boy, supporting his wretched delicate body against a crutch. The heart-wrenching coughs were adding to the air of a poor, ill child with death already placing an amicable bony hand on his shoulder.   
Strangely enough no one seemed to take any notice of the limping sad figure.  
The Doctor’s hearts’ were bleeding just watching the poor boy dragging himself along the aisle and he was about to stand up when a wrinkled but nonetheless gentle looking old woman with a tight grey bun had placed a hand on the boys’ shoulder.

“Oh, look at you poor thing,” she cooed, “Are you travelling all alone? No mum or daddy here to help you?”

“Mummy’s home to take care of my siblings and daddy is working for a devious pedantic old man. Sometimes he makes him stay there all night long. So that…”  
Here the tear-rendering speech was interrupted by deep pneumonic coughs.   
“So that one day we might have enough money to see a doctor.”

The Master sniggered; though it must have been they’ve just passed, like another squashed narrator, as he was staring straight out of the window.   
The Doctor on the other hand was fighting away the tears and was about to stand up and offer his help to the poor individual, when he saw the handsome lady leaning closer to him.

“I might be able to help you,” she whispered into the boys’ ear, “As a young lass I’ve lost my parents in a tragic fire, but an old gruesome lady took me in. And even though I had to chores all day long until my hands would bleed I learned what hidden powers I possessed…”

The boy snuggled up closer to her, eager to learn more about her unique story.

“You see, I’ve been given the gift of healing,” she whispered ominously, “I may heal the wounded and make the blind see, yet…” here she paused dramatically, adding reluctantly, “at a prize?”

“A prize?” the boy repeated staring dreamily into her piercing blue eyes.

“It’s my blood you see…” she continued kindly and in a, for the Doctor’s taste, way to heroic manner, “Just a few drops of my blood will heal cuts, yet to heal an illness as severe as yours it would surely take more than that.“

Another dramatic pause followed, once again spoiled by the Master sniggering dimwittedly.

“A whole lot more would be needed. But I’m willing to give my life for this young…”

The rest of the sentence was drowned out by a small whistle the boy had retrieved from his pocket and he blew with way too healthy strong lungs for his current state of health.   
Alarms went off, two gorillas in uniforms led by conductor Crabtree stormed in before the carriage was sealed shut by two massive iron grates descending.

“All Rod, pissengers. Please stay on your soots. No need to pinic. There is a Miry Sow present. I repoot: a Miry Sow had been sauted.”

The boy had sprung up and tore off the grey wig and wrinkled mask to reveal the unearthly pleasant face of a young girl.

“You aint belonging with us lassie,” he cockneyed as the two gorillas handcuffed her.

“What?” the Mary Sue asked perplexed as she was, being a Mary Sue, willingly tied.

“He sod, there’s no ram for you on the Paradicks Troon.”

“What?” the Mary Sue asked but conductor Crabtree unlocked the grates and she was taken away by the two gorillas.

“You’d ‘ink ‘e lot would learn. Bu’ they just wouldn’t”

The boy had sat down opposite the Doctor.

The Doctor stared.   
“You’re…you’re Tiny Tim,” he stammered.

“’e same,” he touched his forlock, “only I aint no longer pose as reminder of a Christmas spirit and the lot. But got promoted me. Special force.”

“What kind of force might that be,” the Doctor asked perplexed.

All of the childlike behaviour had died away. No more sparkling eyes, no more pathetic coughs.   
How did he do that, the Doctor wondered.

“Mary Sue department,” Tiny Tim grinned, “they aint allowed on the train, the lot.”

“They are banned?” the Doctor enquired further, “Why?”

Conductor Crabtree emerged.   
“With the Paradicks Troon’s tricks rimming on the fragile line seperooting riolity from faction it is way too rusky to curry with us a Miry Sow. She might escoop.”

The Doctor looked puzzled.

“’e said, since we’re running on ‘e tracks what divides the real from the non-real it would be too dangerous to have a bird with us, what might steal her way into the real,” Tiny Tim explained further.

This wasn’t much of an improvement.

“This train runs on the thin veil which separates reality from fiction. If a Mary was to escape from here, she might make it into an original piece of work disguised as a harmless OC.”

“’t happened once,” Tiny Tim interrupted him, “One of those self-sacrificial slags go’ away. Posed as a teacher, met a time traveller and almost ruined the fandom with her overly dramatic self-sacrificial series’ final.”

The Doctor considered this.   
“Hey you’re not proposing that Clara Os…”

But Tiny Tim clapped a hand over his mouth.   
“Don’t. Say. Her. Name,” he whispered, “its bad luck!”

“Alright, alright, no need to panic,” the Doctor continued, “I won’t do it again.”

“Come on now, Tom,” conductor Crabtree offered.

Tiny Tim straightened up before slumping into his regular limp.

“They mooght be pissing as OC, but a Miry Sow will always be a Miry Sow.”

With this they left.

Again the Master sniggered.

“So Mr Cat,” the Doctor was getting riled up, “what’s so funny that you keep giggling to yourself?”

The Master gave a little unperturbed chuckle before turning his head slowly.   
“It is the satisfactory knowledge, that if it hadn’t been for the poor girl forestalling your actions, you’re soppy old self would have been taken into custody.”


	12. Sweet Seduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here is a bit of smutt.  
> Tell me if you like it (and may come back for more...)

“Oh Koschei...”

Koschei stood in his doorway; he held his arms in a defensive position around hip level, straining his ears to hear even the faintest noise. His murine instincts predicted that great danger awaited him in here. Succumbing to every step of the self-defence protocol which had been drilled into his mind he waited for another sign of the predator.  
His room was dark but he sensed the presence of another being...

“What are you doing? I’m right here in front of you, waiting impatiently on your bed to fulfil your every wish and desire,” Theta whispered tenderly while lounging around casually on his duvet.

Koschei took a deep breath. He squatted down, nearing his bed on all fours before jerking upwards and grabbing Theta’s neck.  
Theta coughed, desperately shaking Koschei’s shoulders to keep him from suffocating him.  
“Are you...mad? Kosch...Koschei, it’s me!”

Koschei clicked his tongue, causing his room to light up. Beneath his hands Theta struggled for air, wheezing and panting pitifully. Koschei let go off his friend who rolled onto his stomach and curled into a ball.

“What did you do that for?” Theta reproached Koschei while sniffing, “Here I am, willing and ready and you try to suffocate me. Didn’t you recognize my voice?”

Koschei cocked his head to one side as if listening into some inner voice. His stare seemed to pass straight through Theta as the golden orbs he called his iris widened. He observed his room closely before, finally, focussing on his friend who knelt on his bed, half-naked and with an overall too cheerful air.  
“Something is wrong here,” Koschei remarked while searching for hidden snares behind his bed.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Theta sighed while pushing his hair out of his face, “You’re not paying me any attention even though I took the trouble to slip into something a senior student would call ‘more comfortable’ but it’s actually extremely itching and reveals for more than I’m comfortable with. Koschei...”

“It has to be somewhere,” Koschei opened his wardrobe, paying the rats escaping from it no attention, “I know that this is a trap. I just haven’t discovered it yet.”  
“Koschei...” Theta whispered, trying to chew on his fingers as seductively as he could, “...I even put on the stockings you got me last year. Look, the ones that look so Christmassy and got the cute bells on the front which jingle whenever you make my body move beneath yours...”  
Theta let out a deep guttural moan before rolling onto his stomach’s, his feet twitching playfully in the air.  
Koschei sat down beside him again, his eyes scanning the room for anything out of play.

Theta sighed and sat up. He leaned closer to Koschei and tugged at his sleeve only to get pushed aside as Koschei checked once again the space underneath his windowsill.  
“Koschei,” Theta almost whined, “I thought you were going to snog and shag me senseless!”

Koschei turned and stared a pouting Theta in the face. Yes, he had to agree that the stockings rather suited him and that the garments he had chosen were more than just fitting.  
Inside his brain his libido and suspicion fought for dominance. Theta, aware of Koschei’s reluctance, sighed wishfully while pulling a filigree crop from under him, presenting it to Koschei before bringing it down on his back side teasingly, softly at first and soon harder and harder.  
Theta chuckled, seeing Koschei wincing as the toy met flesh, reddening it beneath its touch and eliciting those blissful moans from Theta.

Suspicion could take a cold shower and go to bed early. Now it was time for the libido to handle this.  
With a feral grunt Koschei jumped onto the bed, tugging and tearing at Theta’s scantily dressed body.  
Theta yelped as Koschei snatched the riding crop from his unresisting fingers and ran it over his bare thighs, his skin prickling with excitement as he felt the slender yet brutal instrument patrolling his hips.  
Koschei separated Theta’s thighs and spread his legs, enjoying the sight of the impatiently writing body beneath him. He felt sweaty and out of control and so very, very horny as he lunged at Theta, kissing his neck, titillating his salty skin with his tongue as he worked his way downwards until he’d reached Theta’s nipples. Oh, his sensitive and tender nipples, alluringly hard and vibrating beneath the touch of his tongue.

Theta gasped, thrusting his groin against Koschei’s hip bones and grinding against him, desperate for more. The two Time Lords entwined in the most agitated dry-humping the Academy’s mattresses had ever experienced, the bed beneath them squeaked and swayed in distress as Koschei got rid of his clothes and was about to pound Theta into oblivion, and probably his next regeneration, as Theta whispered, “You still got that special lube in your bathroom cabinet’s top drawer, right? Why don’t you give me the keys and I get it while you... well, find some more toys you can please me with until I come back...”

Koschei, hearing the soft and longing tremor in Theta’s voice agreed and handed him the keys.  
Theta got up, not bothering to adjust his slipped clothes which now exposed his bottom in its natural and uncovered fullness, and sneaked into Koschei’s bathroom before locking the door behind him.  
He grabbed a small shelf to barricade the door before he rammed the key into the cabinet’s lock.  
“It has to be somewhere, come on Koschei, you can’t hide it from me...!” Theta groaned under his breath as he rummaged through the drawer’s contents.

He turned in shock as the door flung back behind him.  
“Oh, Kosch...” Theta began but Koschei leaped and caused him to fall to the floor while he landed softly on top of him.  
“I knew it was a trap,” Koschei said triumphantly while starting the search for the lubricant himself, “You’re a naughty little boy, Theta.”

“How did you get in here?” Theta asked.  
Koschei presented his little plaything to him.  
“Laser screwdriver,” he explained before chuckling, “And because you have been such a naughty boy we might find out whether it may function as a dildo as well.”

Theta tried to free himself from under Koschei. Until Koschei extracted the beautifully coloured, jollily decorated tin box from the recessed of his wardrobe.  
Now Koschei knew he had Theta’s full attention.  
He took off the lid and let Theta smell the sweet smell of...

“Mh... chocolate,” Theta wheezed and licked his lips expectantly. His eyes bore into Koschei as he shot him the most miserable, pleading look he was capable of.  
“Please, Koschei, I need it... I need it so bad...”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Koschei chuckled before shoving a chocolate truffle into Theta’s mouth before sealing it with a kiss.

“Perhaps I’ll even treat you to a caramel-nougat swirl... that is... if you behave...”


	13. The Paradicks Troon

Pocture spooce. Deep spooce.  
A dark scorcely star sprankled vood somewhere far if, with those celarful nebulas farming stroonge pitterns.  
And yet the attention gets droown to the rile root tricks carefully lain out, the metal blickened by soot and stardust glostening in the lights of stars dying millions of light years awoo.  
Doctor Crabtree licked out of the windoow.  
He was rinning loot.  
He had been far oot in some distant gilexy, being charged for foole perking when the alarm inside the TERDIS had gone if.  
It was all too emberrassing.  
He had almost forgitten about the Chrostmas Invusion.

"Hello!"  
There was a distant voice and a bright light made it impossible to focus.  
"Hello…strange conductor person…are you all right?"

Conductor Crabtree sat up and shook his head.  
"What a stroonge flush buck," he mumbled, "What is going in?"

"He means 'on'," the Doctor snapped before a saucy reply had been added by the Master, "And no, we don't know what's going on."

Conductor Crabtree stood up rubbing his head.  
"It's all some kind of blir," he stated, "what happened to the pissengers?"

"The pissengers, I mean passengers are alright, well at least most of them…"

The Master sniggered.  
The Doctor rolled his eyes.

Conductor Crabtree dared to look around.  
His vision was still a bit blurry and it was hard to fight off the nagging feeling to take out some sort of acoustical tool. A screwdriver to be more precise.  
The passengers were groaning, many were holding their heads or crying in agony.  
Still a small cluster of wakening passengers formed around them.

"What has hippened?" he wanted to know.

"We're still trying to figure that out," the Doctor stated while he soniced the carriage.  
He looked at the uncommon readings.

"The train has stopped," he added in a way too dramatic tone of voice.

Murmur ran through the crowd.

"Impossible," an elderly man with distinguished goatee added indignantly while glancing at his watch, "It wasn't supposed to do that for at least three hours.

"So it had been you after all," the disturbingly familiar looking man with the hat, the Doctor had met in the Paradox Train commented.

He and the Master exchanged glances and agreed to neglect this matter. For now.

While the Master and the Doctor had gotten in a quarrel and some more from different regenerations had joined the dispute, the Doctor in his current regeneration opened up a panel and forced his screwdriver into the train's main system.

"Some passengers are still uncuncious," he added worriedly, "we must have run into something."  
He looked the Master up and down who, despite himself feeling a bit nauseous, seemed quite well.  
"Why isn't it affecting you?" he asked while rearranging some cables.

"Cheetah virus," the Master replied instantly.

"It sheemsh to be your explanashion for everyshing," the Doctor replied whit his screwdriver in his mouth as he worked furiously on the control panel before wedging it in again, "You've mentioned this earlier, but you don't experience any flashbacks either."

"Cats don't have flashbacks," the Master grinned matter-of-factly, "Cats never think about what they have done twice."

The Doctor shrugged.

"Ehm, excuse me…"

Someone was tugging at his coat.  
As he turned around and bend down a little he was face to face with a young boy wearing strange clothes that were a weird blend of different epochs. From different planets.

"Yes?" the Doctor asked nicely.

"It could be the ventilation system," the boy stated bluntly, "there's something inside."

"How do you know?" the Doctor wanted to know.  
Something about this kid seemed off.

"It's my friend," he added cheerfully, "I've crammed him inside."

"Why?" was all the Doctor could shriek.

"He's claustrophobic," the boy added as if this was some kind of logical explanation.  
"He was kind of scared of the train stopping, so I've triggered his claustrophobia, you know replacing one fear with another."

There was a distant scream and the sound of someone running on all fours through a massive ventilation shaft that passed the carriage and set off into the next.

"There he is," the boy added and hurried after the scream.

The Doctor stared, while the Master took his sonic screwdriver.  
"Hmh," he stated while keeping the Doctor from getting it back, "According to the reading there is a massive…"

"A kick-up!"

It was conductor Crabtree.

"I was going to say cock-up, but this works as well," the Master added.

"Someone has middled with the troons security system," Crabtree continued enraged, "this is dangeroos. Now all mad ideas seep into the troon unfiltered and affect the pissengers."  
He tried to catch his breath again.  
"It's one enormous max-up."

"12 cases of terminal diseases.  
The seme and versatile carriage teamed up to conquer the uke carriage together, resulting in cross-overs that were never meant to happen.  
There is a group of upset grifters since instead of the annoying cockney Danny Blue, they were provided with Danny Pink who wouldn't stop talking about his war trauma.  
Carriage 16 is infected by smut…flies?"

"They eat clothes," the Doctor explained, "thus creating smut."

"and three cases of spontaneous mpreg."  
The Master considered this.  
"Yes, we are all in trouble."

The commotion of the quarrelling Doctors and Masters had turned into a fight as more and more reincarnations joined sides and conductor Crabtree had to intervene.

The Doctor checked the readings again.  
"There's something in the ventilation shaft…"

"Yeah, but it's probably that boy who…"

"No," the Doctor insisted, "look…"  
He wedged the sonic screwdriver back in and pressed some buttons on the panel.  
"Here."  
He pointed on some blinking dot.  
"Something is trying to get inside."

"Oh something is trying to get inside."

"You're just jealous of my sonic screwdriver," the Doctor snarled.

"No," the Master corrected him, "I am not jealous. Besides I got one as well."  
He took out his laser screwdriver.

"Can it do this?" the Doctor asked. The waves emerging from the tool seemed to fight off the innumerable plot ideas as more and more passengers woke up.

"No," the Master stated unimpressed.  
The panel exploded.  
"Can it do _this_?" he asked, laser screwdriver still in hand.

"Conductor Crabtree," the Doctor tried to change the subject, "can you show us to the engine room?"

"Of coarse, follow moo."

The engine room was quiet.  
Too quiet, the Doctor thought.  
Slowly they searched the carriage, conductor Crabtree using his torch.  
"There's a newt," he exclaimed and picked up the note.  
"Something bod is coming dune. Have you hot the nose."

"Could it be in code?" the Doctor wanted to know.

"No," conductor Crabtree continued, "it's from a sing. It has something to do with the Pennies trying to infiltreat the troon."

"What Pennies?"

Above there was the sound of hooves as ponies scattered, backing away from the opened hatch.

"They are not allowed on the troon," Crabtree added serious, "they are a kids TV show, but just wouldn't accopt it."

The careful clip-clopping of hooves marked their return.

There was a flash of light, the unpleasant smell of burnt horse hair and neighing of the fleeing ponies scampering away.

"Friendship is magic my ass," the Master mumbled and the Doctor used his sonic screwdriver to seal the hatch again."

"So everything's back to normal I suppose," the Doctor said while they went back to their seats.  
His eyes fell upon the strange boy from earlier.  
"Have you found your friend already?" the Doctor asked uncertain.

He nodded.

The Doctor was about to ask his whereabouts when he heard a scratching sound from within the restroom.  
"I can't breathe, please let me out. The walls are closing in again. Please Koschei I said let me out…"

The Master grabbed the Doctor's hand and pulled him along before he could have intervened.  
"No, you don't."

"But he is…I am…"

"He won't be alone for long," the Master added with a smirk, " _Theta_ is in for a treat."

This somehow stayed uncommented as the Doctor's attention had been drawn to the carriages occupants.  
Sontarans.  
One whole battalion of Sontarans.  
And all of them wearing tuxedos.  
A sight to behold.  
Still the two of them thought better of it and nodding smilingly at the odd potato faced passengers hurried into the next carriage where they faced...  
Another carriage full of Sontarans.  
They passed it in puzzlement to reach another carriage filled with tarted up Sontarans.  
Stepping back into the previous carriage revealed some more Sontarans.  
The same hardly distinguishable faces sitting in the same seats.

"Oh no," the Doctor mumbled, "we've stumbled into a time loop."


	14. Time Loop

“Morning, Koschei.”  
Theta had just finished adjusting his books and fishing out the remaining pencil stubs from the deepest recesses of his robes (he was convinced that something lived in the pockets and ate all the things one put in there, thus being the only proper explanation why you’d always find wrappers in your pockets but never cough sweets themselves) when Koschei walked past Theta’s desk, swaying.  
The sleep-deprived look on his face was a sure sign that Koschei had been up all night, working himself into the ground. A new science project, perhaps. Or an escaped animal of unknown origin. Lately Koschei had preferred breeding mice over rats since, and here Theta gave the phrase Koschei had used some consideration, ‘their organs were more colourful’.

Theta watched Koschei who stumbled over his own chair before sitting down with a distant look.  
Well, deep down Theta didn’t even know what Koschei meant by those cryptic phrases. And, frankly, Theta wouldn’t even want to know their true meaning.  
Sometimes it was simply better not to ask and stick to nodding acknowledging.

Koschei patted his desk as if he was trying to grab an invincible book.   
“Lost something?” Theta asked.   
“I didn’t plan to be early,” Koschei replied before finally discovering the textbooks he’d been looking for under his desk. He pulled them out. “Rassilon III has been sick all night and I couldn’t sleep over his constant throwing up. I wonder if it is something in his diet.”  
“He’s the new mouse with the striped pattern,” Koschei added. Theta turned around in his seat.   
“Poor thing,” he replied, “I thought you didn’t feed him yesterday after he’d been throwing up the night before as well.”

Koschei scratched his head.   
“It’s the first time he’s done this,” he insisted.   
“Okay, maybe it was a different mouse. Maybe it’s an epidemic,” Theta looked Koschei pleadingly in the eye, “Please Koschei, don’t tell me you’re working on a new chemical agent.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Koschei replied, ignoring Theta’s remark nonchalantly, “He’s new to the Globe and once he got used to his new surroundings he’ll be definitely be the alpha mouse I’ve been searching for. He can be their leader.”

“Thus the name, I know, I know,” Theta added, “You already told me enough about your mad ideas.”

The Globe was a giant vivarium in an unoccupied attic, unoccupied by other science projects that is, designed and constructed by Koschei who had modelled it after the Citadel, the heart of Gallifrey.  
Legends claimed that the rodents occupying it were not more developed than their wildlife friends but were selectively bred by Koschei to outgrow Time Lords themselves. What crept around in the caverns behind Plexiglas were the founding fathers of a generation of intellectual mice. A rodent master race.

“I still don’t see why you have to sleep beside your monstrosity of a cage,” Theta pointed out, “It’s freezing cold up their under the roof. Well, mainly because you’ve used most of the insulation for your Globe. But anyway...”

“Oh Theta, as a long time friend you shouldn’t doubt my words when I assure you that I’m taking good care of my laboratory animals,” Koschei reassured him.   
“I didn’t say a word about it.”  
“That’s what you say,” Koschei gave a self-satisfied chuckle.

“That didn’t even make any sense,” Theta snapped, “Koschei you’re acting even weirder than usual.”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t have another spare leave. I ought to buy a new pad myself,” Koschei answered the question no one had posed.  
At which point Theta decided that his friend was too tired to be bothered again and ceased talking to him.

Later on, as he was lying on his bed Theta couldn’t help thinking about the Globe.  
Mice, small living beings, locked in a giant cage, bred and raised only for one purpose: serving their creator, succumbing to their every will, fighting their wars, obeying their master as if they possessed no conscience themselves.  
Well, Theta wasn’t too sure about mice ethics, since they didn’t even possess modesty or an advanced social system.  
But still, he felt pity for them. And something told him that the Globe was simply a reflexion of their own so-called highly developed lives...

Theta’s head was shoved into the pillow as someone tried to deprive him of as much oxygen as possible.  
Theta surfaced with a gasp, growling under his breath as Koschei, kneeling on his back, chuckled.  
“You’re not paying enough attention,” Koschei admonished Theta, “I merely had to evade the creaking floorboards... but you could have heard me breathing down your neck. Or feel it...”  
Koschei nuzzled Theta’s neck, kissing it tenderly.

“Koschei!” Theta snapped, struggling beneath his friend to shake him off, “That’s the third time in a row that you sneaked up on me! I hate you!”  
“You should hate yourself for being lacking concentration,” Koschei ts-tsked, “Besides it was only the second day in a row.”  
“Three days,” Theta insisted while drumming his fists against his pillow, “And sod off you’re too heavy for me.”

“My dear Theta,” Koschei whispered while running his fingers through Theta’s hair, “You should know me well enough to deduct that I’m here for some frisky fun...”  
“No, Kosch stop it...” Theta tried to fight him off but couldn’t help gasping in surprise as he found Koschei reaching for his slightly twitching member and stroked it pleasurably.   
“You’re already as hard as Dalekanium,” Koschei smirked. Theta rolled his eyes.  
“That’s the same phrase you’ve used yesterday and it’s not getting funnier,” Theta growled and hissed as Koschei increased his grip on Theta’s tender flesh.   
“Oh, Koschei... Koschei... no, stop...”

“I’m not doing anything.”

Theta stopped moaning and stared. So did Koschei on top of him. And Koschei, who had just entered Theta’s room via the window, stared back.   
Theta shrieked while escaping from underneath Koschei, looking back and forth between the two of them.   
“Who are you?” he yelled, and, unable to decide who he should accuse of being an impersonator, alternated between pointing at the Koschei by his window and the one in his bed.

“I am your friend, Koschei,” Koschei beside explained.   
“And so am I,” the other one replied.   
“But one of you has to be wrong!” Theta insisted.  
“That depends,” Koschei by the window explained, “how you define wrong. If you’re implying that one of us is not Koschei you are clearly wrong. You are also wrong if you accuse one of us of not belonging in your room, since we are both the same, your friend Koschei that is, we do have the right to trespass on your property. In other words,” and here Koschei drew nearer, standing beside his other self, “We are both Koschei. The same. But not at the same time.”

He smirked. And so did the other one.  
Theta looked back and forth between them.   
“So that’s why you borrowed my books about paradox and time loops,” Theta concluded, “You’re... no wait, you, the one sitting on my bed, you’re Koschei from yesterday. Again. Or something like that. Which means that you,” and at this he pointed at Koschei standing behind the sitting Koschei, “Must be the mastermind behind this nonsense.”

“I agree with mastermind,” the Koschei sitting on the bed added, “But I must disagree with nonsense. It’s me you are insulting.”   
“That’s most flattering,” the Koschei standing beside the bed smiled mildly.

“Why?” Theta asked while wiping his face tiredly. His boner was killing him since it had been called to attention but was now carelessly neglected, “Just why would you do any of this?”

Both Koscheis considered the question closely.  
“As I know my other self as I know me,” the Koschei on the bed explained, “He may have come up with this plan to have a spare day he can spend working on his little projects, especially the Globe. And I can imagine that he’s considering repeating the procedure of sending his time-looped version into class while studying applied science in the attic. Which would lead to you, my dear Theta, living in a constant déjà vu.”

“Precisely,” Koschei standing behind Koschei nodded, “And thought I would like to congratulate you on your precise answer I have to clarify: there is another intention lingering in the depths of the idea as well.”

“Which would be?” Theta asked. He didn’t like the look both of the Koscheis were treating him to.

“The once in a lifetime chance of treating you to a double penetration with the same cock. It’s a paradox. And I hope you’re going to enjoy it.”  
Koschei, who had been standing beside the bed until now sat down beside his other self. Shortly afterwards both of them had managed to pin down Theta.   
“Would you mind if I amused myself with Theta’s lovely backside first?” one of them asked.  
The other shook his head.  
“Go ahead,” he encouraged him, “He’s all yours.”  
He gave a little self satisfied chuckle.

“I mean _mine_.”


	15. One wedding and some crushed animatronics

The blurred disquieting vision of two Koscheis fighting over his body faded fortunately.  
And was replaced by one Master who seemed to check his body using his screwdriver.  
His laser screwdriver.  
The Doctor jumped out of its range.  
“What are you doing?” he screamed, “Stop pointing that thing at me!”

“I am checking your vital signs,” he stated bluntly, but added to the Doctor’s discomfort, “You know as long as you possess any…”

The Doctor waved his hand to shut up the Master and listened intently.  
There was a soft wheezing sound.  
Well actually there was an army of wheezing sounds, coming from the half open mouths of the Sontarans still trapped in their flashbacks.  
Or one flashback as the Doctor mused, since they were giggling or crying simultaneously, each time the recollection took a tragic or humorous turn.  
Which made the Doctor wonder what a Sontaran would consider funny.  
Crushing your enemies perhaps.

“How come we are stuck in a time loop with a horde of snoring potatoes wearing tuxedoes? What exactly is happening?” the Master whispered into his ear, standing uncomfortably close.

“They are still trapped in their flashback,” the Doctor was scanning the surrounding with his screwdriver, “One flashback to be more precise. You know with them being clones they share the same memories of the past and…”  
An idea seemed to form in his mind as he stormed into the next carriage and to the Master’s surprise did not appear at the beginning of the carriage.

“It’s no time loop after all,” he heard the Doctor scream triumphantly, “the numbers of the carriages are different. We’re not stuck!”  
The Doctor was holding his screwdriver at arm length waking the Sontarans from their flashback.  
Funnily enough it was afflicting the lights as well.  
They were flickering.

“Let me rephrase my previous question,” the Master had finally caught up with him, “How come we are stuck with an army of now fully awake potatoes wearing tuxedoes?”

“They are Sontarans. Brave fighters, one of the best soldiers one could hope for and they are…”  
The Doctor leaned down until he was at eyelevel with the one sitting next to him.  
“Ehm, what exactly are you doing here?”

“Two of the finest warriors known to the galaxies are enforcing their martial bond in wedlock. It is our honour and duty as representative of the supra stellar intergalactic federation’s minister of defence to pay our respects.”

“Lovely,” he Doctor retorted perplexed, “My congratulation to the lucky, I mean fierce and ferocious couple.”

It was a sight the Doctor was sure to remember.  
A battalion of fancy-dressed Sontarans on their way to a wedding.  
He wondered by whom the ceremony was supposed to be held.  
Probably a Dalek.

The Doctor looked up.  
There was it again the unsteady flickering of light and…  
He stopped so abruptly that the Master almost cannoned into him.

“Listen,” he interrupted the Master’s ranting and pressed his index finger against his lips.”  
The Master followed his example.  
“What to? I can hear nothing,” he concluded.  
“Exactly,” the Doctor snapped,” no screeching of wheels or chuffing. We’re not moving at all. The Paradox Train has stopped.”

They had fallen into a trot.  
Where to was not important. What they could do about the problem either.  
When something had happened you weren’t supposed to be of any help.

The looping feeling of passing one Sontaran filled carriage after another had subsided as they had reached a carriage carrying normal passengers.  
The term ‘normal’ was bent to its breaking point for this metaphor considering the potpourri of colours and shapes sitting or in some cases crouching in their seats.  
Above the roars and hisses a distinct type of conversation was audible. Had not the TARDIS already translated the words, the Doctor would have known their meaning due to their intergalactic modulation, which could only mean one thing.  
A quarrelling couple.

“Well, how about Androzani minor. Heard they’ve got lovely caves.”

A sigh.  
“You know I’m not very comfortable with caves…you know with the…”

“Yes, yes understood. Pardon me for being so short.”

“That’s not what I said, dear.”

“Yeah, but it’s what you thought.”  
Again a sigh followed.

“We must find that strange conductor person,” the Doctor turned to the Master.

“Oi!”

Both heads turned in the assumed direction of the shout.

“Oi, you two! If you’re looking for Crabtree, he just left due to a massage he had to deliver or something.”

“Any chances of catching up with him?” the Doctor asked.

“Sorry, mate. Can’t exactly remember which way he left.”

The Doctor considered this news, though his attention got drawn to the strange physical yin-yang the pervious speaker and the embarrassed looking person sitting next to him shared.  
“Oh, how rude of me not to introduce myself,” the Doctor mumbled snapping back into reality, “Hello I’m the Doctor and this here is…”  
The Doctor introduced the empty spot next to him, lacking any solid traces of Master whatsoever.  
“I’m terribly sorry for my friend’s…enemy’s…actually we’re archenemies…Well for his rudeness.”  
Hastily he added: “It’s one of his anxieties.“

“Let me guess: commitment,” the talkative one of his conversation partners responded.

The person sitting next to him rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Jeice,” said the smaller one, “and the handsome silent eye-candy next to me is Burter.”

Another sigh and the rolling of the eyes followed.

“We’re mercenaries and used to be on a team, but with our leader turned into a frog it kind of…well we thought we could give it a try again. Form our own little crew. Just the two of us.”

The Doctor took this in along with the medals they had proudly pinned on their festive armour and the guide to exotic and adventurous honeymoons lying in Jeice’ lap.

“Oh you must be the…”

Jeice nodded encouragingly.

“On your way to…”

Again a nod.

“Congratulations…”the Doctor said, “two great warrior joining forces…”  
Well the first part of the previous sentence would probably apply to the blue tall companion, looking somewhat like a distant relative of a Silurian.  
With his red partner being roughly half the size of him.  
A weird image formed in his mind.

“Can you believe it?”

The Doctor snapped back into reality only just now realising that Jeice had continued talking.

“I mean we’re half way there and mister ‘I know no fear but I won’t tell my parents about it’ just wouldn’t agree to any of those wonderfully dangerous places to go to.”

“Honeymoon…” the Doctor tried, “let’s see…how about Skaro?”

“Well a century back I would have agreed with you, but since ‘the witch’s familiar’ and the ‘magician’s apprentice’ everyone knows nothing will happen to you on Skaro, but Davros doing a lot of monologuing and Daleks only threatening to kill you but, ouch.”

Burter had nudged him in the rips and whispered something in his ear, well first he bend down to do so.  
The Doctor’s ears were ringing and there was a strange pain, like an itch on the back of his head he couldn’t reach.

“Sorry,” Jeice continued a bit embarrassed, “I didn’t just reveal a future plot to you, did I?”

“Time Lord. Time traveller. Happens all the time,” the Doctor retorted and shook his head to dispose of the uncomfortable feeling of a plot being spoilt.  
It went away quicker than expected.  
Well, it hadn’t been a proper plot at all.

“Pyrovilia?” the Doctor suggested.

“Been there before. Hot and sticky, yes, but not very exciting. ”

“Segonax?”

“With the psychic circus being on tour again, there’s not much left there, I’m afraid.”

“How about PosydonXCVII?“ the reappearing Master suggested.

“The rumoured desert planet?” there was excitement in Jeice’ voice, “Legends have it is infested by dangerous ravenous creatures.”

The Master sniggered.  
“The coordinates.”  
He handed Jeice a piece of paper.

“Honey what do you think?”

“Anything that makes you happy,” Burter replied leaning into a passionate kiss accompanied by catcalls and wolf whistles.

“And while you were chatting away I’ve already fathomed this mystery. Something’s blocking the tracks.”

“We have to get to the locomotive then,” the Doctor stated.

“I can take you there,” Burter volunteered, “I’m the fastest in the universe.”

“It’s true,” Jeice commented, adding quietly “disappointing, but true.”  
It was true which was why it happened only seconds later that the Doctor came to a halt in front of the blockade.

“Oh no…” he mumbled angrily, “no you don’t!”

“What exactly is this?” Jeice wanted to know stepping closer to the heap partially hidden in darkness.

“Don’t say it,” the Doctor admonished the Master.  
He kneeled down.  
“They are trying to steal their way into the train. And I won’t do them the favour of mentioning their names.”

“So…” Jeice continued, pointing at the wires hanging from metal shells “ _they_ are alive?”

“Kind of…not really…” the Doctor continued as he moved closer, “it’s never been established what they are really. The programmer thinks it’s clever to leave everything shrouded in mystery and let the fans develop their own theories. Don’t go near them!”

The Master stopped in mid-motion.  
“It’s safe, alright,” he defended himself, “they can’t move on screen; their framerate is too low.”

The jaw of one metal monster opened as it slumped forwards.

“I said move,” the Master continued to reassure himself, growing rather uncertain, “That’s just bobbing back and forth a bit, though I have my eyes on you weird fox thing…”

The Doctor reached a decision.  
“Tell the engine driver to continue at full speed ahead.”  
He looked determined and added a bit more sinister: “They will be crushed under our wheels.”

“I think we’ve already run over this one,” Jeice stated pulling free a heap of cables and metal rods sticking out at wrong angles making it impossible to detect whether you’d been looking at its front or back.

“No, he always looks like that. That’s just Mang…”  
The Doctor clapped his hand over the Master’s mouth.  
“Don’t say it,” he screamed, “don’t say their names. If we keep ignoring them, they will be forgotten soon.”

“Fine,” the Master added.  
Then he kicked the bear shaped heap in front of him.  
“This is for ruining the genre of indie horror,” he spat and they went inside again.

The Train did continue at full speed but since there was no narrator present no one heard the final tune of the toreador march as the metal figures were grinded to dust.  
But most importantly the Pardox Train was once again running smoothly on the oily greasy tracks of kiss ass comments.  
Though the euphoria subsided as the driver’s assistant made an announcement.

“Bit of a problem there,” he was so worried he even forgot to hold his nose while speaking, “It appears we are running straight into a plot hole.”  
And a deep smooth voice appropriate for a commercial added: “Right after this Flashback.”


	16. The Portrait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut ahead...

Theta shivered beneath Koschei’s touch. His hips touching the cold window sill, Theta stood there awkwardly, occasionally sighing whenever Koschei’s lips placed a wet kiss on his neck.   
“Kosch… I’m cold,” Theta whispered uneasily, his eyes drawn to the freezing world outside. He could have sworn he’d just seen his breath forming frosty clouds in front of his lips.   
“Please… Can’t I put some more clothes on than just the stockings and that…well, that thing you got me?” he asked, almost begging him.

Koschei drew back his head, smiling mockingly at Theta.  
“You’re not fooling me; I ‘m well aware that you’re not comfortable with your prior decision. But I am sure that it will teach you a valuable lesson if we succeed with this matter.”   
Theta pushed Koschei aside, pouting. He wrapped himself into the cosy blanket which had until now been resting peacefully on Koschei’s arm chair.   
“And what do you think I’m going to learn from catching a cold and thereby be possibly sealing my death?” Theta snapped as he fled towards Koschei’s oven, which was rustling romantically.

“To think twice before agreeing to pose nude,” Koschei replied honestly and with a sly smile on his face.   
“Now if you’d be so kind as to remove your most irritating covering…”  
“I prefer posing like this, thank you very much,” Theta replied grudgingly.  
“Off with that,” Koschei went on while pulling the festively patterned blanket off his shoulders, “Because if you stay covered you’ll never discover whether you enjoy being uncovered.”   
“Couldn’t I just stay under the covers?” Theta asked while folding his arms in front of his chest. His voice had dropped to a wail, “Or can’t we postpone it?”

“When would you prefer being portrayed in the nude?” Koschei asked while fumbling with the strange apparatus he had created specifically for this occasion.   
“How about after the Time War?” Theta asked, “That is, if both of us happen to survive.”

Koschei chuckled. He screwed in a bolt here and adjusted a spring there.   
“Get back to the window. It’s the brightest spot in the room. I want to capture your image with the wintry glory of Gallifrey in the background,” Koschei went on while ushering Theta back into his previous position.   
“Koschei, I mean it,” Theta whimpered as he was shoved against the cold stone wall, feeling the iciness of his own limbs again, “How about next summer when I’m not freezing my ass off? I could pose naked with all of the beauty of a Gallifreyan summer day in the background.”

“You do as you’re told,” Koschei reprimanded Theta before adjusting the strange garment he’d supplied Theta with, “Besides the snowy winters have a special… touch, a soul in them.” He waved his hands vaguely, “Something you wouldn’t understand. So stop fussing around and we’ll remove _that_ while _this_ goes over here…”

A few moments later Theta was resting his body against the window sill, pulling back one end of the strange garment he was wearing. As Koschei had told him it was a pleated silk-chiffon tunic, very expensive looking and very festive. By looking out of the window it gave him an air of longing, of waiting for the beauty of nature and whatnot. He was the personified spring waiting for winter to pass.  
Theta himself, on the other hand, felt like an icicle propped up against a draughty window.

He didn’t like the red see-through he was draped in, the posture was more than merely uncomfortable and he wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the apparatus Koschei was still mending would go up in flames or shoot knifes at him.   
And worst of all he didn’t like the icy breeze passing between his legs…

“You look don’t look comfortable,” Koschei remarked while diving behind the monstrous machine to adjust a bit of canvas.   
“Well, I am not!” Theta snarled through gritted teeth, “My testicles had turned into snowballs.”   
Koschei dared a look down.   
“Metaphorically, of course,” Theta pointed out, “Anyway how long is this going to take?”   
“Keep still for a moment, we’re almost there,” Koschei remarked.  
One last time he took a glimpse of Theta before smiling approvingly to himself.

“Don’t move. Whatever happens. Don’t move,” Koschei instructed him while disappearing behind the apparatus.   
Theta had expected sparks flying, steam escaping the giant pipes and a great rumble.  
Instead there was a quiet grinding sound before Koschei surfaced again.

“We’re done,” he stated boldly before wiping his hands on a towel.  
Theta stared at him, still frozen at the spot, shivering and gnashing his teeth.  
“And to imagine you were making such a fuss about…” Koschei chuckled while starting to disassemble his machine again.

“Koschei,” Theta hissed.  
Koschei turned.   
“My fingers are stuck to the window, I think they’re frozen,” Theta whispered panic-stricken, indicating his stiff hand on the windowsill.

Koschei stumbled over to Theta before reaching for his icy fingers. He caressed them tenderly, eliciting a painful hiss from Theta whenever his cold skin made contact with his warm hands.  
Koschei knelt down, breathing softly on Theta’s fingers. His warm breath was soothing and though a stabbing pain flushed through his veins he felt delighted by Koschei’s tender touch.  
And he felt his blood darting for his nether regions already…

Koschei smirked. He bent down, kissing and licking at the icy flesh Theta’s fingers had turned into. Theta’s arousal hadn’t passed unnoticed and so he suddenly turned his head around to treat Theta’s twitching limb to a moist surprise.  
Theta jolted, almost doubling over. He drew back his, until now frozen hand, and, cursing under his breath, he grabbed Koschei’s shoulders to support him on his weak knees. He gasped and groaned as Koschei worked his tongue expertly up and down his glans. The touch felt so warm and close and even through the fabric of his tunic it felt oh so goddamn good!   
Theta ran his fingers through Koschei’s hair as Koschei picked up the pace. He scraped his teeth over the thin fabric of the tunic, pulling at it until he’d torn a hole in it, little enough that it past almost unnoticed but big enough to let Theta’s dripping cock through.

Theta groaned in ecstasy. Koschei sure knew how to spoil him and he let Theta’s stiff member rub over his palate before allowing it to dive into his throat.  
Struggling not to ejaculate right away Theta dug his heels into the ground while wheezing and panting. He raked his nails over Koschei’s back of the head as he felt the first drops of his pre-cum running down Koschei’s thorax.

Koschei, well aware that Theta was too weak-minded and far too intuitive to last any longer, released Theta’s manhood with a squishy sound.   
He used Theta’s bafflement to pin him down onto his armchair, legs in the air and wide open.  
With a bit of spit and pre-cum he drove in his impatient cock, thrusting into Theta violently and yet with true passion.

Theta, feeling uncomfortable again, wriggled beneath Koschei’s painful penetration, trying to escape his impaling member but thereby drove it only deeper into his own body.  
He felt Koschei’s heat, sensed his brutal lust pounding in his veins as he drilled him thoroughly, further and further, erect limb chafing against raw flesh, boring into the velvet moistness, demanding every inch of it, every ounce of its treasured fluids...

Koschei made sure to grip Theta’s member in time to keep him from ejaculating onto his stomach.  
In return Theta made sure to release Koschei’s cock before he could spill his hot seed into him, thus sprinkling his stomach with little love juice drops.

There was a grinding sound.  
Both Koschei and Theta turned to see the monstrous machine, still looming ominously in front of them.   
“What was that?” Theta asked, not even daring to move.   
“I think,” Koschei replied while clearing his throat, “I now have a picture of personificated love, too.”


	17. The plot hole

Roughly ten minutes later and with the help of the fastest man in the universe, well and a chuckle from his partner, the Doctor and the Master had reached the first carriage and were staring down the gaping abyss.

“What neutralises a plot hole?” the Master wanted to know.

“There is no way of stopping a plot hole,” the Doctor whined dramatically, “you can only bridge it.”

“Why are you shouting at me?” the Master enquired.

“It’s convenient,” the Doctor continued in a roaring voice, “its drama.”

“Drama?”

“Yes, drama,” the Doctor explained further, “it’s what helps the people forget about the plot hole.”

“Oh, no,” shouted the Master while thrusting an arm theatrically into the direction of the passenger sitting next to him, “my long lost son.”

It turned about to be a hamster about eight inches tall sitting on a silk cushion and dressed in the fashion of a Victorian gentleman.  
He adjusted his monocle while eyeing up the Master.  
“I take offence to that,” he squeaked while twirling his moustache, “I’ll have you know that my great-grandfather was the archduke of Westgloucester. So don’t you dare accusing me of being related to a common pleb?”

“Who are you calling a pleb?” the Master snarled looking down on the rodent, “I’m the only legitimate offspring of the noble house of Oakdown.”

“Never heard of them,” the hamster retorted wrinkling his nose.

“Well, who ever heard of the archduke of Westgloucester being a hamster.”

The hamster swung his ivory embroidered cane swiftly and expertly and hit the Master on the nose.

“I take offence to that,” the Master cried out.

“And I take offence to you taking offence to that.”

“Well, how about a round of fisticuffs so that self-proclaimed descendant of Treeshort...”

“Oakdown,” the Master screamed.

“...self-proclaimed descendant of Oakdown may defend his honour,” the Hamster leaned closer to the Master while whispering menacingly, “if he possesses any.”

The Master rolled up his sleeves.  
“You’re on.”  
And left the carriage.

“James,” the hamster addressed the human butler sitting next to him, “hold my coat.”  
He disposed of his walking stick, coat and hat before rolling up his sleeves as well and following the Master outside the carriage.

The Doctor couldn’t believe his eyes and watched open mouthed as the two disappeared.  
“So,” he cleared his throat, “back to our main problem...”

“How about a Mary Sue?” Tiny Tim suggested, “We could throw in a Mary Sue. They are created for these occasions.”

“No, I don’t think this is necessary,” the Doctor interrupted him.

“But sacrifices must be made,” Tiny Tim whined exaggeratedly, “Please Mister think of all the children.”  
The Mary Sue he was still pulling along on a leash agreed.

“I can’t possibly agree.” The Doctor blocked Tiny Tims way to the Engine room.

“But Mister,” the Mary Sue pleaded in a chocolate coated voice of an angel, “I have nothing but myself to sacrifice. I am willing to give up myself to save the rest of you. I was an orphan, no family. No one would shed a tear for my absence.”

Tiny Tim beckoned the Doctor to look out of the window as the plot hole was starting to shrink.

“It’s disappearing,” the Doctor remarked.

“Not fast enough, I’m afraid” the engine driver’s assistant shouted, “keep the girl talking.”

So the Mary Sue continued her skin crawling sad story about how she grew up in an orphanage.

“If only Captain Jack was here,” the Doctor mumbled to himself, “he’s good at filling plot holes.”

“T’ pervy jokes are helpin’ ‘s well,” the engine driver shouted above the sobbing and blowing noses as the other passengers were forced to listen to the hardships of of a Mary Sue reaching puberty.

“Still not fast enough.”

The red warrior gave a chuckle.

“It’s no use,” Tiny Tim interrupted the air brained story about a truck running over Mary Sue’s cat who was trying to save a puppy, “We have to throw her inside.”

The Doctor watched as the girl was carried into the locomotive and watched her willingly plunge into the plot hole, after giving a sad and for the engine driver’s assistant too long farewell speech.  
There was a disturbing sucking sound as the plot hole shrunk until it was barely visible.

“Still not gone,” a voice protruded from the locomotive, “There’s nothing we can do.”

“Weeell, there is always one thing you can do in case of a plot hole,” the Doctor admitted.  
He cupped his hands around his mouth.  
“River!”

A woman with golden locks appeared wearing a figure hugging cocktail dress and a scuba mask.

“What is the mask for?” the Doctor asked.

“Fpoileph,” she mumbled and continued after removing it, “I thought you had forgotten all about me. So let me check my diary...”

“I’m afraid there is no time for that,” the Doctor grabbed her hands and pulled her closer, “River, there is a plot hole trying to suck us in and I’m asking you, only this once, just this once, is that understood,” he paused but continued after a nod, “can you do your little thing?”

River smiled.  
“It will be a pleasure for me.”

The Doctor watched in awe.  
“Well?” he asked.

“You have to ask the question first,” she replied.

“Oh dear,” the Doctor mumbled, but cleared his throat and tried to sound more surprised, “Oh my, Professor River Song. Why is there a gigantic plot hole in front of us?”

River smiled, enjoying her big moment.  
“Spoilers,” she whispered and a thunder ran through the universe as the plot hole got sucked into its own paradox and disappeared.

The passengers were cheering, some had protruded ticker tapes and confetti from festive fanfics. The whole train seemed to be enraptured.

“Thank you River,” the Doctor kissed her on the cheek.

“All in a day’s work of a cheap plot device,” she replied wearily.

“All rod. Everyone calm doon,” Officer Crabtree was picking up the speaker.

“Hmh, hmh,” he cleared his throat, “this is your conductor spooking. The Plit howl is eluminated. I repoot: the Plit howl is eluminated. Please tick your soots everyone as we are a boot to enter a Flushbuck tonnel and...Hell loo Ronny, I have a massage for you from Michelle...”


	18. Charmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I had a hard time deciding on the chapter's title. And now I feel kinda old and can't stop thinking about the corresponding TV series...

Theta was hunched over his writing desk, his head rested on his hands while he drummed his fingers on his chin.  
He stared at the various bell jars in front of him, treated each to a scrutinizing glare. Eventually his gaze fell upon the little fly agaric under one dome. He squinted.

“What’s so lucky about you?” Theta thought out loud.

“Does it look unhappy?”

Theta almost jumped at the unexpected reply. He turned around to find his room still empty.

“Koschei!” he roared while squatting down to have a look under the bed.  
Next he checked inside his wardrobe by pulling open the heavy and squeaking doors. Someone grabbed him by the neck and shoved him between his robes before slamming the door shut.

“Koschei let me out of here!”  
Theta drummed his fists against the wardrobe’s doors. They didn’t give an inch.

“First rule of surviving at the Academy: always check your wardrobe for an unwanted intruder.”  
He heard Koschei sniggering from the other side.

“You’re always an unwanted intruder in my room,” Theta growled, “And what were you doing here anyway?”  
The light popped in through a gap in the doors.  
“Waiting to teach you a valuable lesson,” Koschei replied with a broad grin on his face as he pulled open a door, “As for the others tasks: that’s none of your business.

Theta pushed him aside and cast a glance at his writing desk. He was relieved to find his bell jars untouched.  
“And which of these is the unlucky fungus?” Koschei asked, resting his head on Theta’s shoulder as soon as Theta had sat down in front of the row of domes.  
“It’s not unlucky,” Theta admonished him but Koschei interrupted him again:  
“Of course it’s unlucky. Someone tore it out of the ground, interrupting its peaceful fungal life by tearing it out of the ground instead of letting it mind its own business. If being held in captivation under a glass dome isn’t unlucky then I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s a mushroom,” Theta replied angrily.  
“A toadstool,” Koschei informed him, “fly agarics are poisonous.” Koschei gave his own explanation some thought, “Maybe it’s lucky because no one eats it.”

“It’s a charm,” Theta tried again, “A lucky charm.”

“Really,” Koschei replied while leaning forward to catch a better glimpse of the fly agaric, “Why?”

“That’s part of my research,” Theta explained while nudging Koschei in the ribs, “And don’t get so close you’re fogging up the glass.”  
“I’m currently studying alien mythology,” Theta added.  
“You mean earth’s mythology,” Koschei corrected, “I don’t know what you see in this planet.”  
“Lot’s of fascinating species worth studying,” Theta replied.  
“A big ball of water is all I see when I look at it,” Koschei mumbled mockingly, his eyes swivelling over the small reconstruction of earth on Theta’s desk.

“Either way,” Theta began before clearing his throat, “Their believes and folklore is fascinating. And their mythology...”  
“Funny, isn’t it?” Koschei asked while giving the globe in its stand a push. It whirled around its own axis, “They’re surrounded by so much in the universe and they don’t even notice it. And instead of looking what’s beyond them they invent things and beings which don’t even exist. Like unicorns or basilisks. Or physics.”  
Koschei tapped against one of the glass domes. It gave a pleasant ‘tsing’ sound.  
“And what is this?” he asked.

“It’s a small sculpture of a piglet with a four-leaf clover in its mouth,” Theta explained, “It’s something you are given at the turn of the year.”  
“It looks like it’s choking on the clover,” Koschei pointed out, “A rather nasty gift, isn’t it?”  
“A good luck charm,” Theta repeated.  
“You’re kidding,” Koschei squatted down in front of the dome to meet the little sculpture at eye level.

Theta shrugged.  
“Maybe it’s something on the lines of: Don’t be like that pig. Don’t choke on your vegetables,” Koschei went on.  
“It’s not choking,” Theta rolled his eyes, “It’s delivering the clover as a gift of fortune. A four-leaf clover is also a lucky charm.”

“I think being a four-leaf clover is very unfortunate,” Koschei replied, “If you don’t get eaten by bugs you’ll end up on someone’s writing desk because they think you ought to be something special because some apes on earth believe it.”  
“Look,” Theta spun around and glared at Koschei, “I don’t care what you think about it. As I stated earlier I’m doing research as I’m studying these objects. And I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

Koschei patted him on the shoulder amicably.  
“You don’t have to ask,” Koschei explained and chuckled, “I’m glad to be of service.”

In absolute silence Theta removed the globe draped over the clover. He held his breath while putting it down. He stared at the plant, inspected each of its four leaves enrapt.  
He looked at Koschei.  
Koschei shrugged.

“Is it supposed to do anything?” Koschei asked.  
Theta sighed. “I’m not sure.” He checked his calendar, “But it’s still 13 more days until earth’s New Year. I guess we’ll have to wait.”

Theta put the clover on his window sill. He felt the draughty cracks in the wood and grabbed a scarf from his dumb waiter to place it around the clover’s pot.

“I don’t suppose the plant is going to bring you luck,” Koschei ts-tsked while Theta was still fumbling with the scarf, “Actually it’s lucky to have you looking after it.”

Theta growled under his breath before sitting down in front of his desk again.

“Either way, do not let me detain you,” Koschei remarked before disappearing beyond Theta’s bed, “I’ve got some mending to do.”  
“Under my bed?” asked Theta.

The sound of a door squealing in its hinges protruded from somewhere beyond Theta’s bed. Follow by the sound of disappearing footsteps.

Theta didn’t even bother to check under his bed.  
Instead he treated the fly agaric to a long stare.

“You are a lucky charm,” Theta spoke his thoughts quite bluntly, “If I manage to chop you up and mix you into one of Koschei’s meals I’ll be really lucky...”


	19. Ridcule Poireaux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Traditional speaking:  
> This chapter was written by DarkSideoftheLoon.   
> As some might notice due to an error, the last few sentences are somewhat similar to the ending of chapter 17.  
> This has been corrected now and we apologize for the inconvienience .

“I thank you all very much for gathering here.“

The little voice with a strong French accent, piping up from behind him made the Doctor spin round in his seat. Before him stood a little man with meticulous hair, an impressive moustache and a body with a tendency to the spherical. 

“In the last few hours I had time to think”, he continued importantly,” to work the little grey cells. And at last I am able to reveal who killed Major Willistrum Atkinborough.” He pointed dramatically at a frail looking man with grey whiskers.

“Do you mean me?” the old man quavered, “You must be mistaken, my Name is Harry Pullivan.  And I am very much alive, if you don’t mind.”

“The murder of Major Atkinborough , I must confess, has puzzled me for a long time.”, the little moustached man continued unperturbedly.

“I admit I had a spot of cold last week,” Harry mumbled quietly.

“Look, what is going on here?” asked the Doctor, standing up.

“You wait your time, Sir. I will come to you,” said the little man imperiously.

“But I feel much better now.”

“This is ridiculous, the man is clearly not ...” the Master began.

“So Mister Fortescue”, said the little man at the other end of the carriage. “I have been wondering what you did in the conservatory at 2 o clock in the morning teaching Ms Upperton the harmonica while everybody else was playing the charade in the drawing room.”

 “Will you shut up. And you know you are talking to a poodle?” the Doctor shouted in the direction of the misguided moustached man.

“In fact I would like to go for a walk.”

The little man’s eyes darted to the Doctor, then rested upon the Master. With a speed you would not have expected from the stout figure he ran in front of him and held up his digit: “Which leads us to you, Mrs Fuzzybottom. You think I did not notice that you tried to bribe the maid into giving you information about the Norwegian atom scientist who was about to marry the Vicars daughter?”

The Master’s eyes flashed yellow.  
 “If you think I’m not going to bite your finger off, you are mistaken.”

Hastily the Doctor interfered. “Please!” he said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. “Could we all just calm down.”

A brief, expectant pause followed.

“And what kind of stupid method is that, accusing everybody instead of telling who actually did the murder?” the Doctor shoutet.

The little man sniffed indignantly. “It is the method of Ridcule Poireaux.”

“I feel fine!”

“So where do you think he comes from?” whispered the Master, while Ridcule Poireaux darted around, accused a pale looking young woman, a passing Sontaran and, unfortunately, the poodle again, of murder.

“How should I know?” snarled the Doctor. “Sometimes I think the classics are recycled so many times that only an abstract image of their original form is found in every story, simplified beyond recognition. Stale, uninteresting and slightly annoying. Like cardboard once used to be a tree.”

“Is this how you normally explain things?” asked the Master over the triumphant cry that one other passenger did indeed not do the murder. “With weird metaphors that sound extremely clever but would never work if you saw them written down?”

The Doctor scowled at him. “It normally works. And if this stupid little man doesn’t shut up there is going to be an actual murder!”

“What seems to be the treble?” The tall figure of Crabtree appeared.

“This annoying little vegetable keeps recreating a murder that did not happen!” cried the Doctor.

“...yet,” the Master added quietly.

“I must ask everybody to comb Dane!” Crabtree intoned, “Please take your soot. The troon arrives in farty minutes.”

“That’s not true,” said the Doctor.

“Oh he always says that,” a passenger behind him remarked, “No matter how long we still have to go. You’re lucky he didn’t propose to pee your ticket in advance.”

Crabtree has been talking to Ridcule Poireaux very earnestly, but apparently to no avail.

“I will do this investigation my way, thank you very much. Ridcule Poireaux does not take kindly to criticism,” said the little man.

“Of course you would say that,” the Master said quietly, “because that way no one will ever know the truth.” He gave a meaningful glance to the Doctor.

“What?” Poireaux asked.

“Naturally,” the Doctor said, winking at the Master, “It is so no one will find out that it was actually you who sold the harmonica to the Norwegian scientist, very well knowing that the promise of the plans for the conservatory were the only thing that kept Seargent Succubus from telling the Vicars daughter that the maid hid under her bed during the charade!”

The little man stared at him wide-eyed. Then he sagged.

“You are right,” he said quietly. He gave a big sigh and then continued with a sad look in his eyes, “It is time that I retire. No longer should Ridcule Poireaux dwell among the true Detectives. I am like an old watchdog without the teeth. I shall find a quiet spot and grow the vegetable marrows. Good bye Messieurs. It has been an honour.”

He bowed, then, straightening up, he marched out of the carriage.

Crabtree looked after him. “Well done, Sir. I was just licking for another wee to calm him down.”

The Doctor ignored him. “What a bloody nuisance! At least there will be some peace in this train!” he exclaimed.

“Hush!” said the Master, holding a finger to his lips. Barely audible over the rumbling of the wheels there was the sound of a voice with French accent.

“Aha, so it was you who poisoned Mister Fairfax Fitzgerums with sparkling cyanide!”

Though the Doctor had missed it.  
He had tried to get into the next carriage.  
Someone was blocking his way.


	20. Exchange Students

Theta had tried going through his door when he had bumped into the person blocking it.  
And the stranger was shouting at him.  
He looked up into the stern eyes of his new tutor, as the tutor had stated quite clearly before he was picked up and dragged to a small study.  
Curses and mumbling on the behalf of his new tutor was accompanying their journey, as crammed aisles were opening a passage for them.  
No wonder, Theta thought to himself as his eyes fell upon the long robe the tutor was wearing.  
He's one of them.

Extra-terrestrial students.  
Attending the academy.  
What would have been considered blasphemy only months ago, was now reality.  
Well, there had been the Time Lords, proud archons of the universe, conquerors of time and space.  
Though as it had turned out, this term did no longer apply to them exclusively.  
Indeed there had been a distant civilisation, a small insignificant race who had managed to oppress time and had invented time travel on different terms, but was about to harness reality itself.  
Strange beings indeed.  
First two millennia spent in the sea and when you look a way for a few decades, poof, ready for take-off in unchartered realms.  
And to think that they had almost surpassed them…  
Unfortunately this left the Time Lords with two options.  
Fight or befriend.  
It had been the latter, disapproved by quite some officials, mind you, though a plan for future collaborations had been made.  
Hands had been shook.  
And students, innocent, young students eager to learn of their folklore and ethics had been sent to that distant planet for a) if the whole operation was going pear-shaped they wouldn't be missed (the academy was overflowing with those, there was still more where they came from) and b) while they would try to assimilate they might furtively and coincidentally catch a glimpse of their marvellous, yet secret calculations and theories.  
Though the Octaphildae had similar intentions.

A student exchange program.  
What a marvellous idea, both parties had agreed on.  
So indeed, there were aliens attending the Academy.  
Roughly Time Lord shaped, though most of them were a bit taller.  
Though worst of all, while the Time Lords had sent average, probably below average students out there to this distant planet (a precaution surely), the Octaphildae had traded them for smart specimen. Real smart.  
Kiss-ass smart.  
Good at everything smart.  
Doing their homework and obeying the rules smart.  
Geniuses.  
Though their taste in fashion was severely outdated.  
Those floor length robes…  
Showing one's ankle was probably considered tarty back on their home planet.

"Pay attention!"

Theta flinched as a book hit the table.

"No daydreaming, no thoughts wasted on this useless friend of yours. While I'm looking after you every little Time Lord brain cell of yours will study. Learn study and repeat. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Pyrominos."  
Theta sighed.  
And of course they had picked one of them as his tutor.

"The educators talk a lot about you, Theta."  
Pyrominos was standing by the small window, seemingly talking to himself.  
That arrogant prick.  
"But the way I see it, you are merely a pawn. An insignificant, naïve pawn in Koschei's cunning game."

A cry echoed through the masonry at the mentioning of that name and Pyromnios looked up in embarrassment.  
"I mean," he coughed nervously, "this ill-natured friend of yours whose name we won't be mentioning again out of consideration for the poor archlector of unapplied sience."  
Three words: 300 rats linedancing.  
It were the little cylinders they had swung that had done it.  
Or the fact that they had been rehearsing their routine for hours every night underneath his floorboards.  
That and the opossum playing the bagpipe.  
Which the Lemming Lord had mistaken for a fellow specimen (Lemming, not Time Lord that is).  
Which was why he had signed up both of them for the tutoring program.  
And with the mentioning of the name 'Koschei' provoking a strange epidemic among tutors, Theta had been the one to suffer.  
This stupid Lemming Lord.  
He often wondered whether his brain possessed still the same capacity, trapped in this tiny prey animal body.

"You shouldn't judge someone by his appearance."

Damn, Theta thought.  
He had forgotten that the Octaphildae possessed the ability to establish a mental link as well.

"Yes, sir."

There was a giggle.  
Pyrominos looked up.  
"Who is there?"

Since this provoked no reaction whatsoever Pyrominos opened the door to find the spot unoccupied.  
Though the annoying chuckling was definitely protruding from a different direction.

"Koschei," Theta babbled without thinking.

A distant wail followed as Pyrominos glowered at him.

"Come out now, you're distracting my pupil."  
Pyrominos followed the source up to his bookshelves and removed a few scriptures.  
Koschei's head appeared.

"Not distracting," Koschei's smile with childlike pride, "just doing some research if it's all the same to you."  
He held up one book he had until now been reading at the back of the bookshelf.

"Get out!"

To Theta's surprise he obeyed.

"Sit!"

Pyrominos placed a third cup on the table and poured some tea into it.  
"Why are you in my room?"  
He was obviously enjoying the small triumph of being able to order Koschei around.

"Ventilation system," Koschei answered truthfully.

"That is not a proper answer," Pyrominos admonished him.

"For my standards it is," Koschei added grinning.

"The highpriest of intellectual infamy will be pleased to know that I'm taking you under my wing as well."

"Oh I don't intend to take part in this tutoring system," Koschei continued unperturbed while sipping his tea, "and I don't think the term 'wing' would be somewhat appropriate."

"You dare contradict me?"

"I'd call it correcting," Koschei replied evenly, "and I'd say tentacle would be more appropriate."

"Shut up, Koschei."

A groan made all three look up.

Pyrominos re-adjusted his scarf.  
"And now, if you'd quit interrupting my lesson, I'd be…"

"You know, I think it would be a lot more appropriate to call them Octophildae?"

"What's that even supposed to mean?"  
But Pyrominos was addressing a Koschei free spot.

"Have you never wondered why their robes are almost floor-length?"

Pyromnios spun around, but Koschei had already pulled up his garment, exposing the fleshy tentacles hidden underneath.  
Theta gulped.

"How dare you…"Pyrominos screamed, but Koschei was sitting next to Theta again.

"Who would have thought that this humble Academy would once be inhabited by octopussies?"

"It's octopi!" Pyrominos snarled, "and we're not even…"

"Ah, my mom used to make octopie," Koschei romanticized,"She was famous for her octopie."

"It's octopi! Or octopodes if you are referring to its Greek origin."  
He adjusted his robes, blushing and evaded Theta's gaze.  
"Anyway we're not _vampyropodae_ , we're descendants of _decapodifromes_."

"I knew, I counted eight arms," Koschei added triumphantly, "which means your arms and hands are actually…"

"No, don't say…"

"Tentacles," Koschei tasted the word.

Theta had been unable to contribute anything to this strange turn of events.  
He was shocked, puzzled and strangely enough a bit aroused.  
He looked at Koschei.  
Why was it suddenly so hot in here?

"It's called mimicry," Koschei explained to Theta mistaking his discomfort for lack of knowledge, "you know the concept of imitation, posing as a harmless individual…"

Theta gulped again.

"We're not going to eat anyone," Pyrominos screamed.  
He was getting riled up and somehow seemed to be affected by the room's temperature as well.  
"Anyway, at least _our_ ancestors weren't starfish…"

Koschei had picked up a clipboard he produced from somewhere under his robes.  
"I'd like to continue my little research, if it's all the same to you. Please refrain from distracting me any further," he stated as he readjusted his glasses with the back of his pen.

"Distracting you?" Pyrominos spat, "You are the one who keeps interrupting my lesson. And anyway what are you taking notes of? It's very impolite to take notes while someone speaks. Stop it!"

"You might call it…"  
Pyrominos missed the clipboard by inches as Koschei pulled it away.  
"A little experiment."

"Such as?"  
Pyrominos was agitated.  
And Theta was having a hard time concentrating on the words they exchanged.  
Though to his shame something else was giving him a lot of trouble now…

"Such as:" Koschei continued triumphantly, "'Does one teaspoon of blushing poppy (Papaver venerius) powder poured into one cup of tea while no one was looking have similar effects to Octaphildae?'"  
Koschei cherished the sight of Pyrominos' paling face as he stared at his empty cup in horror, though he turned to Theta.  
"Compared to a Time Lord, that is."

"Koschei, no…I"  
But Theta had become aware of the look on Pyrominos face, as the shock died away and something else began to stir in him.  
He backed away.

"Unfortunately I will have to leave now," Koschei stated evenly as he picked up his clipboard.

"No…"  
Theta replied, not daring to take off his eyes of the slowly advancing Pyrominos, lust gleaming in his eyes.  
"Koschei help. You can't leave me."  
He didn't even hear the distant wail.

"And yet I have to," he reached for the door, "there is another little experiment on my schedule. And its outcome is what I'm rather anxious about."

"Which is…" Theta babbled, feeling cornered as Pyrominos was about to leap.

"How the previous experiment affects the individuals behaviour if they are locked up."

The bolts clicked into place, though Theta's screams were muffled by kisses as the blushing poppy was sloshing through their veins.  
Pants echoed through the west wing, lust filled cries and moans reverberated in the old masonry as the clash of species took one unexpected, yet far more pleasurable turn…

* * *

 

_Far below on a tiny negligible conglomerate of water and carbon two figures were approaching a secret passage to their even more hush-hush headquarters._   
_And boy were they in a good mood, joking and laughing all their way down until they had reached the basement._

_" We've got them!" one of them stated proudly addressing their female comrade._

_" Got what?" she asked perplexed looking up from her screen._

_"Well, Ianto found this interesting readings and I decided to check them out further and turns out I was right about my feeling."_   
_He gave a self-satisfied laugh._   
_"Yes, neutralised them right on the spot. They hadn't even hatched or anything. Aliens in potential as the Roman would say…"_

_Somehow this failed to impress the female colleague._

_" What's the date?" she asked flatly._

_" It's December the 20 th ," the one called Ianto answered dutifully._

_" And you two were just out…" she beckoned the other one to continue._

_" Hunting down an alien threat about to go berserk in London during the Christmas season, oh shit…."_


	21. The Parody Train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite happy this Advent Callendar is over soon. Writing Officer Crabtree's jokes is affecting my brain. Yesterday I thought a package of instant noodles was labelled 'dick flavoured'...

"Doctor!"

Someone was tugging at his coat.

"Doctor!"

Being greeted by the Master's smiling face was not an experience the Doctor was ever going to get used to.  
"Get off me," he pushed him aside, dusting himself off.

"You passed out after going through a door that was still closed," the Master stated unnecessarily cheerful," And you were talking in your sleep…"

"Yes, yes alright," the Doctor stated a little embarrassed.  
He had almost forgotten about his tutor and his…unexpected advantages…  
He gave a little nervous cough.  
It had taken him at least five regenerations until the round 'love bite' one of his sucker had left on his neck had faded a bit.  
No wonder there was a time when he wouldn't dare to walk around without his scarf…

"It all sounded rather interesting," the Master pressed on.

"Shut up, alright?"

"Wasn't Pyrominos one of your former tutors?"

The Doctor was about to protest when it happened.  
What had happened he was trying to recollect afterwards.  
All his brain detected was him, standing on two legs snarling at the Master and in the next second, him lying flat on the floor with most passengers and parts of the Paradox Train rearranged.

He coughed as he dusted himself off and got up.  
They must have run into something, he deducted.

"Master?"

A grumble underneath some chunks and plates was all the Doctor needed.

He looked around.  
A murmur was running through the assemblage of passengers, though none of them seemed hurt.  
Until he spotted the trickling red stream.  
"There is an awful lot of blood on the floor…" he stated a bit paler.

"Probably a Mary Sue," Tiny Tim encouraged him, "they are expected to sacrifice themselves during emergencies…"

The Doctor stepped through a door that had been blown away during the impact.  
Flickering lights, the nose piercing smell of cables and electronical junk.  
Groans and distant footsteps.

"Please don't tell me we've plunged into the horror genre," he turned to the Master who had followed him.

"I don't think so."  
An unfamiliar voice replied.

The Doctor spotted a grotesque looking clown accompanied by a non-chalantly looking blue haired young man in a long white coat.  
The clownish figure walked up to him.  
And slipped on a banana peel.

"Hello there," the Clown waved and beckoned them to draw nearer.

The Master had it worse.  
Moving closer he stepped on a rake and got hit in the face.

"You seem a bit puzzled, about recent events, hence your vehicle crushing into our train," the Clown explained once they had gotten into ear-shot range, "My name is Dollardumb. I'm the engine driver and this is my assistant, AbridgedZane."  
AbridgedZane gave a disinterested grunt.  
"And this," Dollardumb continued, "is the wreckage of the train you just obliterated."

"Impissible," the appearing Conductor Crabtree shouted, and continued once he had made his humorours journey through the banana peel mine field, "it is quite Claire that you smished into our troon rinning bickwarts."

Dollardumb had produced some balls and started juggling while he explained.  
"I must object, it was definitely your train going in the wrong direction. We could totally see your headlights."

"Hold on," the Doctor interrupted them inspecting the crash scene thoroughly, "There seems to be an awful lot of slap-stick elements here. I can't feel the disquieting sensation of a flashback heading our way, but mainly why is there a second train running on the Paradox tracks?

"Because we're not on the Paradox track, love," Dollardumb explained further, "this is the Parody track."

"The Parody Train?"  
The Doctor stared wide-eyed.

"Sure," Dollardumb continued as he oversaw the repair of the two trains, "mockeries, abridged series, parody songs…we even got some satirical plays. Take me for an instance…Oi!"  
He was addressing some of the Mary Sues they had, reluctantly on the Doctors behalf, retrieved from their kennels to do the repair work.  
After all, who to ask about engineering but a Mary Sue?

"You must admit they are marvellous creatures."

The Doctor jumped.  
"Stop sneaking up on me," he nudged the Master in the ribs, "and besides, no don't even think about it, that's weird and probably illegal too."

"Come on, it's been a while now…"

The Doctor shot him a stern gaze.

"And besides," the Master continued unimpressed, "it's spring. I can feel it."

"The Paradox Train knows no seasons," the Doctor replied matter-of-factly.

"But the Cheetah does!"

"No!"

"Fine!"  
The Master crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Is that a black eye?"  
The Doctor looked down only now becoming aware of his torn sleeves.

"Perhaps…" the Master added with a smug smile.

"When…"

"Funny story really," the Master began, "I was defending my honour against a hamster, sneezed, triggered the cheetavirus' effects…that's when things get a bit hazy…turns out I'm now the Archduke of Westgloucester…"

The Doctor turned pale.  
"You didn't…"

"Told you it was a funny story," the Master grinned, "by the way, do you have anything against the taste of fur in my mouth…"

"I said no exchanging of tragic background stories, is that understood?"  
Dollardumb pointed at another one who was now patting the hand of the officer who held her leash.  
"And no more healing and comforting, you hear that?"

"Great workers, those Mary Sues," Dollardumb continued once he had gotten back, "terrible plot devices but great workers…Where were we…ah the Parody Train…Yes, take me for instance."

They eyed him up closely.

"What are you supposed to be?" the Master asked unperturbed.

"A wise-crack."

"Ah, tried that once, never got the hang of it."

"Not that kind," Dollardumb continued, "turns out someone thought it was kind of funny to take a horror character and juggle and temper with his name. That's what you get. Wise-crack. Only with little wise and too much crack."

"How come you got thrown off the track?" Dollardumb wanted to know.

"Well, there was the tini-weency problem of a plot hole trying to suck us in."

"Ah, right," Dollardumb agreed, "terrible thing those plot holes, though we've developed a system to cope."

"Which is?"  
The Doctor hadn't even finished his sentence as a custard pie landed on Dollardumbs face, showering his surroundings in custard.

"I wish you hadn't asked," Dollardumb continued brushing off bits of pastry.  
"I see the anti-plot hole device is still working properly, thank you AbridgedZane"

"Well, sucks to be you."

"So this Parody Train thing," the Doctor picked up the conversation again, a bit perplexed by Dollardumb's assistant's strange behaviour, "it's somewhat like the Paradox Train…"

"Only with much more laughter and slap-stick."

"Ilbatroos! Ilbatroos!"

Their heads turned in the direction of conductor Crabtree who was strangely enough wearing a maid's uniform and carried an albatross on his vendor's tray.

"The Albatross sketch," Dollardumb remarked matter-of-factly, "It's quite popular around here."  
"Oi," he shouted at Crabtree, "what flavour is it?"

"It's a beard, so what floover do you expect it to be. I imigine, it's dick flavoured."

"Strange," Dollardumb was perplexed, "I've never heard that one before."

"Well sucks to be you!" AbridgedZane remarked.

"What's it with those pee and dick jokes anyway?" the Master asked.

"He's from the eighties, you know," the Doctor explained.

"I hot that!" Crabtree shouted.

"Can we keep him?" Dollardumb's eyes lit up.

"I'm afraid that would be tempering with reality," the Doctor explained, "he belongs in the Paradox Train after all."

"Shame really," Dollardumb continued, "oh well…Yes, that's about it. Wherever there is a vicious satirical voice on the back of someone's mind. That's the Parody Train.  
Poking fun at all the silly things happening around us…"

"Well sucks to be you."

"…While we're forced to continue our endless journey through the galaxies…"

"Well, sucks to be me."

They watched the Mary Sues as they walked graciously, covered in soot and rust but still graciously, among the plates until the last screw had been magically wrenched into place again and the beautiful girls stood there with their perfect hair and intact nails.  
Dollardumb had arranged for the Mary Sues to be transferred to the Parody Train.

"Well, here we are," he declared, "the Paradox Train is on the right track again and all the Mary Sues are stored and secured in the luggage department."

"And you're sure they can't escape…" the Doctor continued doubtfully.

A person appeared in a cloud of smoke.

"Bastura," Dollardumb whispered, "representing the cliché of the negligible British friend."

"Pretty much," Bastura explained, "first of all, they need a chauvinistic macho male individual to gain their true powers. You know, to save his life and such, so he will learn to respect women. And secondly we put them in some old potato sacks and you know with most of them being blonde…"

"They go 'potatoes, potatoes' if nudged, right?" the Doctor deducted.

"Precisely," Bastura remarked, "and now if you'll excuse me, my stiff upper lip is needed elsewhere." He disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

"Thanks again, you lot," Dollardumb continued and pointed in the direction of the luggage, "They will keep us going for a while."

"What fuels the Parody Train?" the Doctor enquired.

"Cheap shots, old jokes and repetition. and repetition. and repetition. and repetition. and…"

At this point AbridgedZane hit him over the head with an enormous red mallet with small wings attached, initiating roaring laughter as the engine of the Parody Train whirled back to life.

"And slapstick obviously," Dollardumb continued, "but the thing is the satirical self-sacrificial poor excuses of a twelve year's old fantasy will be good for a laugh or two."

"And I thought you were coming with us," the Master turned to the Doctor, who nudged him in the ribs.

"Wait, didn't daystarsearcher write something similar about Mary Sues in 'The Good Ship (Name of Ship)'? And wasn't the thing with the Albatross taken from Monty Python's flying circus?"

"So? What's wrong with a reference or two?" Dollardumb wanted to know.

"That's stealing."

Dollardumb shrugged.  
"Stealing, referencing. Same thing to me. All that matters are the laughs. What is a man? A miserable pile of secrets, but enough of this…"

"Castlevania: Symphony of the night," the Master interrupted him.

"As referenced by Littlekuriboh. Hah."

"I still think this is wrong," the Doctor wouldn't just back down.

"Well, sucks to be you."

"Shut up AbridgedZane," Dollardumb continued and beckoned the Doctor to come closer as he spoke above the crescendo of laughter and giggles, "But Doctor dear before you go, there's one thing more you ought to know…"

"Musical reference," the Master harrumphed.

"Shut up," Dollardumb snarled, "Jokes may grow beards, Abridging might be dead and Parody songs will fade. But laughter will remain. And sometimes. Sometimes the Parody will be more memorable than the thing it was poking fun at. For what is laughter, but an original creation of the human heart."

The speech was prematurely terminated due to a custard pie hitting his face.

"How appropriate," Dollardumb wiped the custard off,"thank you AbridgedZane."

"Well sucks to be you."

The Master and the Doctor stepped out of the locomotive, the latter touched and slightly befuddled by Dollardumb's speech.  
The Doctor wiped away a tear before his mood changed.  
"Hey, you stole my part," he added angrily, "I'm usually the one to make heart wrenching speeches."

"Well, sucks to be you."

"Shut up, AbridgedZane," Dollardumb continued waving at the Doctor, "It's time to say goodbye…"

Well, it was what he wanted to say, since everything after 'its' was drowned out by the sound of a falling foot the Parody Train smashed through instantly, maniacal laughter and enraged giggles, the Parody's equivalent of a cloud of smoke, trailing after them.

Back in the Paradox Train the Doctor was brooding over Dollardumbs words as he watched the stars passing them by.  
"You know," he turned to the Master, "I think there might be a grain of truth in his words after all."

"Great, "the Master groaned, "We're back on the existential crisis track again."


	22. Schism

"Oi, Koschei!"

Koschei's head turned slowly. He barely bothered to look over his shoulder to identify the replaceable staff member currently addressing him.

"Theta is usually found in your company. You don't happen to know where he's hiding this time, do you?"

Koschei smiled the biggest and most innocent smile ever perceived by lips. His counterpart took a step back as they didn't want to stand too close to him in case his head split in half and fell off.  
"Unfortunately his whereabouts are as much a mystery to me as they are to the rest of those searching for him," Koschei explained mildly.  
"But be so kind and remind me once again: What heinous crime is he believed to have committed?"

It had in fact been more than a heinous crime.  
What had taken place on the noble grounds of the Time Lord Academy could be referred to as treason, if not heresy.  
The Lord Presidents pet fish 'Sir True Cat' had been abducted. Its aquarium had been discovered empty, with a waterproof ransom demanding note hidden in between the kelp.  
It had been a horrendous sum which should be donated to the Academy.  
A wave of protest had met the accusations of the Lord President that this has been a shameless plan of the Academy to increase its funding. How in the world could this have been planned and approved by the faculty members of the Academy without anyone noticing it? And, if the malicious deed had been in fact committed by one of the students, who should be to blame?  
They were innocent of course, all of them, even Koschei. Especially Koschei.

At least they had found no substantial prove that any of the students had been involved in this.

And just because a lot of students were feeling unwell in the presence of so many official guards, the Lord President's personal guards who were sent off to patrol and comb through the Academy's grounds, and were sick, some of them so sick that they had to resign or simply went on an unplanned holiday, had nothing to do with it, right?

And now Theta was the next one to be befallen by this strange sickness.  
Koschei nodded towards the staff member as they fled from Koschei's presence as soon as they had the chance.  
Koschei wasn't a liar. He never told lies.  
He tended to omit certain details. Unimportant details, of course.  
Like that Theta was hiding in the attic in one of the boxes needed for the unfinished parts of his rapidly growing Globe project (a project involving a giant bell jar, several pounds of rodent feed and lots of mice).  
Or that Theta was convinced of having committed the deed. Well, not personally.  
But in his eyes he was to blame.

"It's still a mystery to me how he could have managed to disappear from the Academy. True, I haven't seen him in days..." Theta sighed as he joined Koschei's side. He cradled the true convict in his arms.  
"He's usually the cuddliest and most playful opossum you're fortunate to come in touch with, unlike the ill-bred and destructive specimen you own."  
"That's why I keep them locked up in a cage," Koschei explained, sounding almost cheerfully, "Thus, rendering them innocent."

Theta sighed again. His opossum looked as though it was expected of it to look miserable. It wasn't fully convinced why but it obeyed nonetheless.

"I feel so guilty," Theta admitted eventually. He wrapped a blanket, smelling of old and long-dead animals, around his shoulders. "And most of all I'm so sorry for the fish. How could I have prevented this from happening?"  
"If you had invented a tool for fish abortion if they're part of the pro-choice movement you might have kept the pet fish from being born, thus making it impossible to kill it," Koschei suggested.

"You're not much of a help," Theta growled. The opossum in his arms looked even guiltier than before.  
"Or if you had poisoned all the lakes with a…" Koschei began before Theta slammed his hand down on his own thigh: "Just shut up, okay?" In a lower voice he added, "I'm feeling bad enough as it is…"

"How do you know it was your opossum that killed the fish?" Koschei asked after examining his Globe closely. He was barely listening to Theta's reply as he was taking some notes.  
"I heard about the mysterious disappearance of the Lord President's pet fish. And the first thing I notice in my room are the chunks of fish bone in my opossum's basket."  
Koschei nodded and rummaged through the giant boxes surrounding them in search for some spare parts.  
"The note was… well, I'm very thankful for you supplying me with it, Koschei. It was a definite was to keep them off my track, a red herring…" Theta broke off, cursing himself instantly for his choice of words.  
"Either way, I think they don't have a clue…"

Koschei nodded, not having listened to a single word.  
But he didn't need to.  
He already knew what had happened.

What had happened was that one of his Globe's mice had managed to escape its current habitat and had travelled around Gallifrey, only to tell the others of their experience and of their expert knowledge, thereby rewriting history and their current believes.  
Their believes now involved a heretic anti-pope, trying to shield them from reality and its boundless wisdom, personified in the pet fish of the Lord President.  
A number of combatant mice had managed to flee the Globe together and had, unbeknownst to Koschei, taken the fish hostage.  
And, furthermore, that they had sacrificed it as an offering to their more cultivated God by eating it alive.

Koschei, having learned of his mice misbehaviour, had planted the remaining bones in Theta's room, convinced that poor blameworthy Theta would come up with an explanation how he could have done it unconsciously.  
And, as the good friend that he was, he had helped Theta with the ransom note. A higher budget for the Academy would come in handy anyway. Lately they had even cut down his expenses…

Koschei focused on the small rodents as he listened intently to the patter of their small feet.

In Koschei's eyes a religious schism would re-establish the previous balance. And he was convinced that soon a small mouse would rise upon its brethren and accuse the current pope of heresy himself.  
Well, sooner or later they would be caught up in their own revolts, thus hindering them from stealing any of his belongings.

And if Theta stayed low for a few more days and take the forgetting-pills Koschei was feeding him the whole fish-abduction story would dissolve into nothing.

* * *

_"_ _But…I mean…How were we supposed to know that…"_

_"_ _You just should have known, that's all," Gwen commanded, "now hurry up and pass me the tentacle…"_

_"_ _Well, yes but-"_

_"_ _And the yarn…"_

_"_ _Anyway it was far too early to…."_

_"_ _Actually, that's not true, Jack," Ianto remarked, "You said yourself we got them in a planning phase. So it was probably a set up for a later invasion. Some sort of conquering time bomb, supposed to go up on…"_

_"_ _December the 25_ _th_ _, thank you Ianto. I don't need you to rub it in…"_

_The smirk that followed was audible._

_"_ _Oi, you two cut it out," Gwen barked, "now run to the storage room and get me some spare parts_


	23. Goodbye Paraodx Train

"I don't get it."  
Loretta had beckoned Crabtree to come closer, after her female charms had failed to do so.  
"We're passing through flashback tunnels all the time, but what was the part about the three people who had hunted down an alien they weren't supposed to."

"Farshadoowing," conductor Crabtree explained.

"Foreshadowing," the Master explained further.

"Oh, alright."  
Loretta turned to the Master.  
"Thank you, handsome."

The Master rolled his eyes.

"You're addressing the new Archduke of Westgloucester," the Doctor whispered.

"Charming," Loretta added.

The Master was about to protest, but his lungs were temporarily relocated a few inches before him.  
And so were his head and the rest of his body.

The Paradox Train screeched to a halt.

"What is it now?" the Master groaned, brushing himself off.

"Please don't tell me we've gotten off track again," the Doctor moaned above the murmur.

Fortunately they had not crashed into an obstacle again.  
They had stopped right in front of it.

"It's Doctor Bimby. He's blicking the tricks and won't stop doon."

"It's that Bumby guy again," the engine driver's assistant accompanying Crabtree translated, "he blames EA and their poor marketing strategy for the game's flop. And he won't get off the tracks until he is granted the screen-time he was promised. There's no way of convincing him..."

"Can't we just...I mean strictly hypothetically speaking that is..."

The Doctor shot the Master a glare.

"Sorry mate, no running over established characters, that's the rules..."

"What about a corpse?" the Master suggested.

"You're not going to kill anyone as long as I'm around," the Doctor admonished him.

"We could break the seal on one of them special boxes..." Tiny Tim suggested, "you know containing warnings and such...I think I saw one labelled: major character death..."

"And rusk the leaves of the other pissengers, impissible..."

"What about the two warriors...they used to be mercenaries after all..."  
The Master suggested.

"Lover's quarrel," Tiny Tim explained, "the other passengers have fled the carriage and two armoured Sontarans are guarding the door."

Oppressive silence accompanied their brainstorming session.

"How about Teatime?" Tiny Tim exclaimed.

"The assassin?"

"No," a head adorned by golden locks appeared out of the ventilation system, "it's Assassin with a capital 'A', it makes quite the difference."

"An ossissin, "Crabtree lamented, "not on my witch."

"Good thing you're no longer a police officer then," Tiny Tim remarked and turned to Teatime, "So, Teatime, there is this obstacle blocking the tracks."

"I'm not a killer, I'm an entrepreneur. I do anything if the money is right."

Tiny Tim sighed and pulled free a contract which he and Teatime studied intently.  
"The party of the first party agrees to…"

* * *

"I still don't think it's right," the Doctor complained.

"Fortunately it doesn't matter what you think," the Master remarked with a satisfied grin.

"Well gentlemen," Teatime continued rubbing his hands together once everything was signed, "As much as I like chatting away with you, I have a business to pursue, or as they say, got some cherries to cube."

"I've never heard that one before," the Doctor remarked.

"Neither have I," Teatime answered with a broad grin.

* * *

"I really should have travelled by TARDIS," the Doctor grumbled as he was heading for the luggage department where his beloved ship was kept.

"This way you never would have gotten there in time…" the Master jested, "though I must admit it really suits her…"

"I think you lost me there…"

"TARDIS, as in _tard_ , being late in French?"  
The Master looked at the Doctor expectantly.  
"Oh, forget it…"

"Ah, there she is…"  
The Doctor ran his fingers across her woodwork.  
"Did you miss me?"

"Pathetic," the Master added dismissively, though a lightning bolt hit him as he reached for the handle.  
"Ouch…"  
He kicked her.  
"Why would you do this?"

"Does the name 'Paradox Machine' ring a bell?"  
The Doctorcarssed her windows as he leaned against her.  
"Be patient, she has been a bit on edge the whole journey. You know with the train's concept revolving around a paradox as well…"

"Touché," the Master admitted, "and what if I did this?"

There was a sizzling sound as everything turn black.  
Then the lights returned.

"Did you really try to laser my TARDIS?" the Doctor admonished him, "You're such a child."

"Ehm…attention passengers," it was the engine driver's assistant again, speaking in his typical manner while holding his nose, "the way is clear now. The Paradox Train is back on schedule. I repeat, the Paradox Train is back on schedule."

With the Paradox Train back on track, the Doctor knew it was time for him to leave. He could feel it.  
And he dreaded this departure.  
With half-hearted phrases still sloshing in his brain he walked up to the Master.

"Ah Doctor, long time no see..."

"Well," the Doctor began and felt his heart drop, "I suppose this is good bye…"

"Doctor."

"I must admit however, that the time spent with you was not as unpleasant as I might have expected…"

"Have you come back to your senses?" the Master remarked unperturbed.

"Well, since there's no flashback tunnel around…" he sighed.  
Oh, how much he hated good-byes…  
"And I'm expected on earth, I really need to be there by Christmas Eve…"

"You hit your head or something."

"No," the Doctor interrupted him, "that's very rude. I know you never grasped the idea of showing interest for a different species…"

"And there he goes again."

"Oh, just shut up," the Doctor was annoyed by his indifferent behaviour, "I just wanted to let you know that I enjoyed our little encounter."  
He swallowed the clingy, weird phrases surfacing and settled for something more subtle.  
"I do hope our paths may cross again, though it usual means trouble…"

"In general, yes, right now, no" the Master remarked and added after a little pause, "You were daydreaming again."

"Why do I even bother," the Doctor mumbled to himself as he left.

Though the Master seemed to be oblivious to his departure.  
He stood there a little while longer and answered the question the Doctor had asked quite a while ago with.  
"Well, there was this old saying about waking up a Time Lord by pouring tea down his throat."

* * *

Having stepped back into his TARDIS, the Doctor spotted the intruder right away.

"I thought, I might hitch a ride." Teatime added sheepishly.

"But I'm travelling by TARDIS," the Doctor continued puzzled.

"Doesn't bother me."

"But I'm going to London."

"You know, actually I'm pretty sure Ankh-Morpork is somewhat a Victorian era version of London…" Teatime proposed.

"But I'm going to a different time zone."

"I'll ask my way back into my own time."

The Doctor stared into the disquieting, yet childlike eyes, well the one good eye, Teatime possessed.  
To come of more innocent, he would have to start baaing like a lamb.

"But you're fictional!"  
The Doctor was at his wit's end.

"What is reality really?" Teatime asked.

The Doctor sighed with resignation.  
"Alright," he continued, "just hold onto something while we take off."

They had almost reached earth.

"This looks like the right spot," Teatime said opening the door and before the Doctor could have protested he dived into the sea of chimneys.  
Where he disappeared with a comical 'plop'.

The Doctor checked his readings.  
Perhaps he had found a secret passage back to his own world, he thought.  
Though a new blinking light caught his eye.  
A distress call, he deducted as he checked the screen.  
From Cardiff.

* * *

"You think this will work?"

"It has to," Jack stated a little uncertain, "What are the coordinates exactly, Ianto?"

Ianto checked his blinking device again.  
"A bit to the left...No, a bit to the right again...perfect"

Gwen and Jack groaned simultaneously as the thing slumped into place.

"You sure this is where the TARDIS will land?" Gwen panted supporting her back.

"I'm positive, by the way it seems to me that..."

"Quiet now," Jack waved them into silence, "I can hear him coming."

They dived for cover and watched the blue box materialising.  
The Doctor stepped outside.

"Doctor," Jack shouted and ran towards him accompanied by the rest of Torchwood.

"Jack, I..."  
But Jack wouldn't let him ask any questions.

"Good thing you came this quickly, it was terrible, really terrible I tell you..."

Gwen and Ianto nodded approvingly.

"Aliens! Monsters! Terrifying beasts! Like no creature we've seen before."

Again they nodded more encouragingly than before.

"And it was coming this way when..."  
Jack seemed to spot the protruding tentacle and other bits sticking out underneath the TARDIS.  
"Oh look," he said way to dramatic, "you must have landed on it. What a coincidence. Now we can sleep again safe and sound. Merry Christmas, Doctor. "

"I have?" the Doctor asked, drawing nearer to the miscellaneous legs and feet still visible.  
The pavement was stained with all sorts of colourful body fluids and sticky substances, giving the impression of a squashed rainbow the TARDIS was standing in.

The members of Torchwood exchanged glances.

"Yes," Jack stated once again while Gwen and Ianto nodded approvingly.  
"Thank you Doctor," he shook his hand, "you save earth, Christmas and so on. Now if you'll excuse my colleagues, we have a recently squashed alien to categorize."

The Doctor inspected the thing unimpressed by Jack's attempts to lure him away.  
"I must say it looks rather interesting..."

"Now that the alien threat is over, how about a drink?"

"Can't say that I have seen something like it before..."

"I know a really nice pub and who knows..."

"The tentacles...perhaps the colossal star squid 'Architheutis interstellaris'...no, no...they don't have bear shaped ears..."

"We could always head to my office if you like..." Jack was sounding desperate.

"And the teeth...boy what enormous teeth...the crimson walrus from New Atlantica had similar teeth, but...no, the bunny tail does not match..."

"Let's make dirty fifty-first century love all night long..."

"The hooves look peculiar..."

"I could surprise you with some unusual positions, taken from the Karma Sutra..."

"The pig's nose looks just ridiculous..."

"Doctor!"

"Jack?" the Doctor asked perplexed as he had just woken from a dream.

"If you would please step away from this alien..."

"Why?" the Doctor enquired.

Jack gave up.  
"Because it's artificial."

* * *

They did indeed check out the pub Jack had mentioned, though the latter had a lot of explaining to do.

"It had to happen sooner or later," the Doctor joked taking a sip, "earth, finally capable of defending itself..."

"Sorry, for spoiling your moment..." Jack said a bit downcast.

"No, I mean it," the Doctor continued, "It makes me happy to know that I'm no longer needed here...fine by me...alright, alright..."  
He took another gulp and smacked his lips.

Jack watched him intently.  
The Doctor was about to burst with curiosity.  
A fight he couldn't win.

"So...what type of alien was it?"

Jack smiled.  
"I happen to carry the files in question still with me."

"A coincidence," the Doctor stated his ears turning red.

"Coincidence," Jack replied handing them over.

The Doctor inspected them intently.  
"Seeds...disguised as Christmas cookies...seedling...carnivore..."  
He hesitated.  
"Blimey," he looked back on the sheets, "Theta II...no, a whole army of Thetas..."

"So they're called 'Theeters'?"

"No, I mean, yes that's what I used to call them, well actually it was a friend of mine who named them, well back then they used to be just one, well a prototype if you like, well it wasn't really a friend ..."  
His voice trailed off.

"Doctor?..."

"Doctor!"

"What, oh yes the alien...an invasion after all, yes, yes..."

A light snow was falling, adding an almost unpleasantly festive touch to the buzzing streets.

"So it was your friend who had tried to conquer the earth..."

The Doctor sighed.  
"Perhaps," he settled for.  
Another sigh woke Jack's curiosity.

"Let me guess, it's complicated, huh?"

But the Doctor wasn't listening anymore.  
His attention had been magically drawn to a nativity scene in a window.


	24. Away in a manger

Dawn.  
Theta yawned while stretching in his bed. The sun seemed weak this morning and just like Theta was it unwilling to rise and shine.   
Though unlike Theta it wasn’t startled by the creaking of the floor boards and the tapping noise beneath his bed.

“No you don’t...” Theta mumbled under his breath before slipping his head beneath his pillow.  
He dreaded what was about to come.  
Koschei.  
A scratching underneath his floorboards was a sure sign of Koschei returning from a long and sleepless night filled with habit-survey researches and other pseudo-scientific experiments Theta probably wouldn’t want to know about. Either way he never needed to inquire further to know that it was about dissecting this creature or capturing that escaped animal...

“Theta.”  
Theta gasped as he realized that the voice was not protruding from under his bed but through the big hole, he only noticed now, which was gaping in the middle of his mattress.   
“What did you do to my bed?” Theta whispered, shocked to look a grinning Koschei directly in the eye.   
“Nothing,” Koschei replied, “And if you mean my laboratory animals by ‘you’ and try to insinuate that they have gnawed through the straw in your bedding I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. It kind of...” he waved his hands vaguely, “dissolved after encountering a newly composited glass cleaner.”   
“How does a mattress come in contact with a glass cleaner?” Theta asked while rolling to his side to evade Koschei’s piercing glare.   
“If your laboratory happens to be underneath the bed stand said mattress is resting upon and the mixture in question evaporates and condenses on the mattress’ underside...”

“Koschei!” Theta wailed. He tried stuffing his pillow into the unwanted opening. It fell through.   
“How am I supposed to sleep on that?” he asked, pouting.   
“Like every other student of the Academy is resting upon their bed: uncomfortably,” Koschei replied. He crawled out from his hideout under the bed and stretched.   
“Kosch I want to sleep,” Theta stated tiredly. He shuffled around on the bed and ended up balancing at the brim, “No lessons will be held today. One of the anti-personnel landmines detonated when, ironically, the Academy’s _personnel_ consultant trod on it. Anyway the explosion shook the building and the First Priest of Intellectual infamy, still a Time Lord brain trapped in a lemming’s body, went berserk and entrenched himself in the ventilation system in fear of an oncoming earthquake. Sadly he wouldn’t back down from the idea that it was a sign of the end of the world, well at least for all the lemmings in the world, and as one staff member tried sneaking up on him inside the ventilation shaft he panicked, bit him on the nose and disappeared through a gap leading to the furnace. The other faculty members have been searching for him ever since but he’s still missing, believed roasted.”

Koschei stared back at Theta indifferently.   
“Of course,” Theta grumbled, “this wouldn’t bother you because you never attend lessons unless you find yourself temporarily interested in them. But please think of us regular students who want to get a bit of a rest after the scrambling of lemming feet has kept us awake during the night.”

Having said that Theta pulled the blanket back over his head.

Koschei squatted down beside Theta’s bed and bent down until his head was level with Theta’s.  
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he whispered.   
“Not interested,” Theta growled and enwrapped himself further in his blanket.   
“I’ve created it specifically for you,” Koschei went on, sounding almost soothingly, which, in Theta’s opinion, was never a good sign.   
“I want to sleep,” Theta emphasized, hoping that he’d be able to get back to sleep.   
“Are you sure you won’t walk with me to the attic?” Koschei asked.

Before Theta could have replied Koschei had already grabbed the corner of his blanket and was dragging him along the corridor.   
He didn’t stop at any of Theta’s pleas and only came to a halt as they had reached the draughty nook Koschei used as storage room /spare laboratory /kitchen /study and/or firework factory.

“I hate you so much Koschei,” Theta grumbled from somewhere under the blanket as he struggled to get to his feet.   
“If you’d kindly take a look at this,” Koschei guided Theta’s steps towards the monstrosity he called Globe, “I have arranged it specifically for you...”

Theta dared to look. And stared. He turned to catch a glimpse of Koschei’s expression which was somehow proud and sheepish at the same. He looked back at the strange arrangement inside of the Globe.

“That’s...” Theta began.

“A live nativity set,” Koschei explained matter-of-factly.   
“But...” Theta tried again, “but these are...”  
“Marvellous costumes, aren’t they?” Koschei mused, “They tailored them themselves.”  
“Koschei these are mice!” Theta exclaimed.   
Koschei shrugged.

“I mean, they can’t tailor clothes, they can’t... build a stable and a crib themselves...”

“I gave them some instructions,” Koschei replied.   
Theta was about to ask ‘How?’ but thought better of it.   
“I thought it would be according to your taste since you seem to take so much interest in earth’s festivities,” Koschei went on “And it is Christmas today, isn’t it?”  
“Tomorrow morning,” Theta replied, “It is Christmas Eve today and Christmas morning tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way round?” Koschei asked, a bit curious.

Theta ignored him, slowly taking in all the little details at the nativity set.   
“And why is this mouse wearing a beard?” he asked, pointing an accusing finger at the mouse representing Joseph. Its beady eyes looked back nervously at Theta before it tried to shuffle behind two mice dressed up in a small pantomime oxen costume.   
“Because it is a female mouse,” Koschei replied, “We are currently lacking any male successors. Women’s right movement. You wouldn’t want to know about.”

“But male mice don’t have beards,” Theta countered.  
“But Joseph did,” Koschei concluded smugly, “This way it is an authentic living nativity set.”

Theta inspected it closely.   
“It’s blasphemous,” he stated eventually.   
“You don’t even believe in the human Gods,” Koschei replied.   
Theta shrugged.

He bent down over the Globe again.  
“And what is that?” he wanted to know.  
“What?” Koschei asked.   
“What is lying in the hay... there, behind the pantomime donkey... it looks like a dormouse...”

Koschei leaned down to take a quick look at the haystacks in question.  
His amber eyes gleamed.

“Why lies he in such mean estate?” Koschei hummed while retrieving what turned out to be a sleeping lemming with a tiny cape with the even tinier Academy’s insignia on it from its makeshift bed, “Where ox and ass are feeding?”

Theta harrumphed.   
“That’s even more blasphemous,” he added as Koschei shooed aside the tiny mouse which had been now resting in the manger to place the Lemming Lord inside instead.

Koschei chuckled.   
“Merry Earth’s Christmas.”


	25. Christmas Present

The live nativity scene.  
Good grief, Koschei had outdone himself on this one. The baaing mice in tiny sheep's costumes, the little fellows with golden wigs and wings attached to their togas.  
The Lemming Lord...

The Doctor considered this for a while being once again safe and sound back in his TARDIS.  
What had happened to the Lemming Lord?  
Well he could just imagine him standing in the front line of the battalion he was about to lead shrieking in his high-pitched voice: "Charge!"  
No, he had to correct himself, the Lemming Lord had quit his, long before the Doctor had graduated, after an dispute with another faculty member. Their theological differences had unfortunately climaxed in a comical episode involving the Lemming Lord hiding underneath the carpet after mistaking the shadow of a passing student for a diving owl and the lecturer of blasphemous perception having misplaced his empty pack of cigarettes.  
Very comical indeed.  
His whereabouts after this Academy changing incident had been shrouded in mystery.  
Had he found a new home in the tundra of Gallifrey were he had joined his fellow free lemmings?  
Had his regeneration cycle finally stabilised?  
Or was he still frozen in place hiding in some cave, gone with all the other Time Lords after the timelock?

_Pathetic, soppy old you..._

The Doctor looked up.  
"Who is there?" it echoed through the TARDIS' corridors.

_It's not 'there', it's here._

Unlike the first time, the source of the voice was definitely right behind him  
The Doctor turned. A smiling Master stared him in the eye as he waved cheerfully.

"Hello Doctor," the Master exclaimed before embracing his archenemy tightly.  
The Doctor struggled under his strong arms.

"You...but how..." the Doctor began but his attention got drawn to the ticking sound deriving from his back.  
He snatched at the piece of paper the Master had attached to his vest during his embrace.  
"Please detonate me," he read out loud and panic-stricken ripped off the small explosive device fastened to the note.  
The Master grabbed it, opened a door at random and hauled it into it.  
There was a thud, the clinker of splintering glass and a sticky substance oozing through the crack.

"No, my jam storage!"

"You have a jam storage?" the Master asked mockingly.

"What else is there to put on a buttered scone?" the Doctor wailed.

"Honey," the Master suggested, "nougat, the blood of your defeated enemies...you know, be creative..."

The Doctor took in the unexpected picture in front of him.  
The Master.  
Inside his TARDIS.

"How..."

"I sneaked inside after the lights went out," he explained while sitting down, crossing his legs as he sipped the Doctor's tea.

"But..."

"I created a time loop version of myself you were saying goodbye to so pathetically."

"Can you please let me pose the question before answering them?" the Doctor snapped, "that's very rude."

"Of course I can," the Master replied," as a matter of fact I graciously allowed you to pose that question just now."  
The Master's face formed a frown as he treated the cup to another glance and spilled its contents over the console.

The Doctor sighed, wiping away the hot liquid with his sleeve.  
"What do you want?" he asked unnerved.

"You should consider getting a teacat yourself," the Master continued unperturbed, "You can't live on _that_ stuff."

"Actually I did quite well with that," The Doctor disapproved and glowered at the Master, "That was the last bit of my Darjeeling. I actually quite like the taste."

"I'm very sorry, why didn't you say o earlier?" the Master asked, visibly shocked.  
The Doctor treated him to a scrutinizing glare. "Where is this going?" he asked, "You do realize that I'm well aware of the fact that you possess less empathy than a starving lion..."

But before the Doctor could have finished the Master had grabbed the Doctor and kissed him violently, thereby sending both of them tumbling down to the floor.  
The Doctor's surprise overcame the first shock but still he remained immobile and let the Master shove his tongue down his throat.  
Eventually he managed to free his mouth from the mad Master's.

"What did you do that for?" the Doctor gasped for air while scowling at the Master.

"To leave the sweetest aftertaste in your mouth," the Master replied dreamily.

The Doctor wiped his face and spat. "You don't happen to have contracted a fatal disease transmitted by droplet infection. Oh dear, don't tell me it is a new Cheetah virus and now I'm going to contract it and everyone is going to forget about it until the next season..."

The Master placed a firm finger on the Doctor's lips as he shushed him into silence. "You do have a wild imagination," the Master replied, smiling smugly, "But I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. It was simply the heat of the moment. And your cute pouting lips. And your beguiling bittersweet smell..."

The Master dug his teeth into the Doctor's throat and kissed and sucked at the tender flesh above the carotid atery. He struggled to remain in control over the Doctor's body, his beautiful slender limbs and soft skin.

"The smut flies," the Doctor exclaimed, "They bit you, didn't they? We encountered them on the Train and you..."

"Oh, how to shut you up," the Master chuckled before adding, "Oh, I know..."

"No, you don't...!" the Doctor shouted but knew by the sound of unzipping zippers that the Master had disposed of his trousers and was now standing in front of him, his member ascending into proud Time Lord glory.  
The Doctor hid his face behind his hands and shook his head.  
"Do you have any explanation for me getting aroused by this?" the Doctor asked and cursed himself for hiding his own arousal so badly.

"You'll be surprised to find that the common smut fly (drosophila smuttus) distributes its feared poison via its saliva, which travels through the blood circulation to feed on the person's dirty mind," the Master explained, "And the enzymes produced in the brain are small enough to travel through the blood circulation and thereby can be transferred to another person..."

The Doctor reached down to the small wound on his neck, only now realizing that the Master had drawn blood.  
"Oh, I'll get you for this," the Doctor swore while licking his lips nervously.

"Possibly," the Master agreed, "But in the meantime I'm afraid I'll have to draw your attention away from my glorious manhood to the gift I have prepared for you. It is Christmas after all."

"Doesn't infecting me with a virus count as a gift?" the Doctor asked, ripping open his shirt as a wave of sheer lust flushed through his veins.

"This was a gift from me to myself," the Master agreed, "As for you... well, it's something that could come in handy... especially against your handsome fifty-first century human friend..."

The Doctor was handed a box.  
"It's sonic," the Master assured him.  
The Doctor shook it gently. He unwrapped his gift and stared at it disbelievingly.

"No, you didn't," the Doctor replied, "There's no such thing as a sonic vibrator..."

But then the thing hummed to life. And the Master, amused by the surprise springing to the Doctor's face added to the obscene noise:

"Should we give it a try?"

* * *

 

Cultural and historical references etc…

Officer Crabtree’s heart-warming pee and piss jokes are originally from ‘Allo Allo’

Loretta first appeared in Monty Python’s ‘Life of Brian’, but she was kind enough to appear in our Christmas Special to amuse us with her 70s feminism.

Captain Picard and Data, as mentioned in the rejected fanfiction ideas cookies, belong to the Star Trek fandom and will hopefully stay there, though one of the authors of this story feels this is the right time to state that Data/Geordie is their OTP.

Fortunately for the Doctor the Snorafruit had gone off. How the Master got his hands on something from the RPG Maker Game 'The Sandman' by Uri will always remain a mystery.

Garry from the video game Ib by Fumy has locked himself up in the restroom to escape yet homoerotic tension tunnel. Not the best choice of places.

Sweeney Todd may or may not have existed, but he was glad to make a cameo nonetheless.

The chapter ‘The R-bomb’ features a historical references. Turns out Koschei wasn’t the first one to think of it, since the British experimented on similar hidden bombs during WWII and if you don’t believe me google ‘explosive rat’.

Unfortunately we were unable to give credit to all authors using Mary Sues, but then again we don’t want to.

Tiny Tim got drunk afterwards and cursed his creator Charles Dickens for his limp.

My Little Pony friendship is magic exists. That’s bad enough at it can get.

Lovely alien couple on their way to their wedding, are former members of the Ginyu force from Dragonball by Akira Toriyama. Burter hasn’t found the courage yet to break the news to his parents.

The unnamed animatronics will remain unnamed. (Take that Scott Cawthon)

Ridcule Poireaux doesn’t like to be confused with his twin brother Agatha Christie’s Poirot. And don’t even think about telling him that they look the same. On the upside he just solved his first case. Though the sugar cube melted in his tea before it could have been arrested.

The giant foot along with the rest of feet found on earth, belong to Monty Python’s flying circus.

Abridged Zane was created by xthedarkone and shadyvox. Though in his opinion it sucks to be them.

Bastura represents all the negligible British characters in dubbed anime. Therefore we pity him but mostly because he’s a portmanteau of Bastion from xthedarkone’s and shadyvox’ Yu-Gi-OhGX the Abridged Series and Little Kuriboh’s ‘Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series’.

In ‘Schism’ the Lord Presiden’ts fish name is an anagram of a real life voice actor. Wonder if you can figure that one out. First one to spot it, gets a free ride on the Parody Train.

Dr Bumby is part of EA’s ‘Alice Madness returns’ and he is right about their poor marketing strategy for said game.

Teatime may or may not have killed Dr Angus Bumby but he definitely hasn’t laid a finger on his poor deceased creator Sir Terry Prattchett (mayherestinpeace) who has left us far too soon.

Torchwood is Torchwood. Nothing funny about that.

But seriously, look out for the smut flies…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the Paradox Train, this year's Christmas Special. We hope you enjoyed it.  
> Many thanks to those who took the time to leave comments or favorited the story.  
> Merry Christmas from TraditionalGaily, Dr.Dalek, DarkSideoftheLoon


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